*      31210018388353 


M&NLOYE  RHODES 


Know  All  Men  By  These  Presents 

That:  the  book,  pamphlet  or  other  item  to  which 
this  certificate  is  affixed  is  the  property  of 

C.  A.  MORGAN 

and  must  be  returned  to  him.  Anyone  who  retains 
such  item,  for  purposes  of  larceny  or  otherwise, 
beyond  the  reasonable  term  of  a  loan,  is  hereby 
notified  that  he  is  subject  to  the  penalties  and 
pains  of  the  curse  writ  by  Ernulphus,  the  bishop. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


WEST  IS  WEST 


BY 

EUGENE  MANLOVE  RHODES 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  MOTH, 

BRANSFORD  OF  RAINBOW  RANGE, 

GOOD  MEN  AND  TRUE,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

HARVEY  DUNN 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEWYORK 


Copyright,    1917,    by 
THE   H.    K.    FLY    COMPANY 


*Morning  on  the  Malibu 

where  once  we  used  to  ride.1 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 
VI. 


VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XL 

XII. 


XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 


PROLOGUE 

PAGE 

The  Keeper  of  the  Gate     ...  1 

Beyond  the  Desert    ....  3 

Pictured  Rock  .          .          .                   .  12 

Good-Bye  ......  23 

Skullspring        .....  29 

No  Dwelling  More  on  Sea  or  Shore  .  39 

ONCE  UPON  A  TIME 

The  Long  Shift          ....  43 

Cheerful  Land  .....  57 

Malibu    Flat      .         .         .         .         .  74 

Barnaby   Bright          ....  88 

Fuentes     .          .          .          .          .          .111 

Pursuit  of  Happiness         .         .          .  122 

THE  SPRING  DRIVE 

Return  of  the  Native  .          .          .133 

The  Shipping  Pens   ....  143 

"Above  All  Wisdom  and  All  Subtlety"  149 

The  Cutting  Ground  ....  156 

The  Night  Guard       ....  165 

Bell-the-Cat       .                   ...  170 

THE  FOOL'S  HEART 

Double-Dare 182 

Chicken-Hearted         .          .          .         .189 

A  Knocking  at  the  Gate     .         .         .  194 

The  Traitors 201 

Keough  Opens  A  Door      .         .         .  207 

CROOKNOSE 

Pass  of  the  North       .         .         .         .213 

The  Dream-Shop       ....  218 

Chips  That  Pass  in  the  Night     .          .  226 

Crooknose   Represents        .          .          .  237 


vn 


DICK 

XXII. 

Privates  of  Industry  . 

242 

XXIII. 

How  Dick  Came  to  San  Clemente 

251 

XXIV. 

Land  of  Afternoon   .... 

261 

XXV. 

Early  History  of  a  Dollar  . 

268 

XXVI. 

Tinted  News     

279 

XXVII. 

Men  of  Harlech         ..... 

288 

THE  BELLS  OF  ST.  CLEMENS 

XXVIII. 

Little  Black  Toodles  .... 

296 

XXTX 

302 

jC\.^\.J.^\.t 

XXX. 

Face  Up    ...... 

309 

XXXI. 

Sale  or  Barter  ..... 

315 

XXXII. 

Letter  of  the  Contract 

320 

XXXIII. 

You  Never  Can  Tell  .... 

329 

XXXIV. 

Meddling  of  Mr.  Breen     . 

354 

XXXV. 

Robin's  Not  Here     .... 

337 

XXXVI. 

Money   Talks    ..... 

344 

OVER  ON  THE  MALIBU 

XXXVII.     The  Enchanted  Valley       ...       346 

XXXVIII.    Wizard  of  Finance    .         .         .         .359 

XXXIX.    "If  Anthony  Be  Well  Remembered  Yet"    364 

XL.    The  Arbitrator 373 

XLI.    The  Witch  Hills       .  381 


PROLOGUE 

THE  HAND  OF  THE  POTTER 

After  a  momentary  Silence  spake 
A  Vessel  of  a  more  ungainly  make: 
"They  sneer  at  me  for  learning  all  awry — 
What!   Did  the  Hand  then  of  the  Potter  shake?" 


PEOLOGUE 
I 

THE  KEEPER  OP  THE  GATE 

FALL  came  early  to  the  hills;  a  fall  alien  and 
strange  to  the  desert.  Fifty  years  gone,  the  year  of 
Valverde  and  Glorieta,  even  such  a  misty  and  sun- 
less September  came  last  to  the  San  Quentin  country 
— yes,  and  strange  nowers  sprang  up  overnight, 
bright-glowing,  nameless  and  unknown  to  any  man. 
Sefior,  I  have  ridden  across  this  bare  desert  when  the 
air  was  drowsy  with  sweetness ;  stirrup  deep  all  day 
in  wondrous  blossoms,  snow-white,  blue  and  purple, 
golden,  fire-red,  nameless. — So  quavered  Don  Apol- 
onio,  keeper  of  the  well  at  the  gate  of  the  desert. 

What  does  the  Sefior  think?  Will  that  wild  beauty 
come  again  to  San  Quentin?  Have  those  seeds  slept 
in  the  blistered  earth  for  fifty  years,  safe,  unimpa- 
tient,  waiting  for  this  year  of  many  rains?  Perhaps. 

Assuredly,  the  Seiior  may  buy  the  sorrel  at  the 
price  he  names,  and  I  will  do  according  to  his  word 
'for  this  dark  one  that  he  leaves  behind. — Red  gold, 
broad  pieces — right !  Now  is  Alazan  thine.  A  good 
horse:  but  the  price  is  a  great  price.  Deal  justly 
with  him,  Sefior.  Ask  him  not  for  great  speed,  for 
that  gift  he  lacks.  A  great  heart,  toughness,  courage 
— these  are  Alazan 's,  an$  he  will  do  you  good  service. 

Will  not  the  Sefior  rest  until  the  morrow  before 
he  crosses  the  plains  of  San  Quentin?  He  will  be- 


2  WEST  IS  WEST 

welcome.  No?  The  Sefior  is  in  haste,  perhaps. 
Food,  then?  A  bit  in  hand  the  while:  tortillas  and 
jerky  in  your  saddle  bag,  for  the  night  camp.  There 
will  be  water  in  pools  by  the  wayside. 

Nay,  you  are  welcome,  Seiior.  Nay,  I  have  no  more 
fresh  horses  in  the  pasture.  Nay,  none  will  call  me 
to  question  in  the  matter  of  Alazan.  I  do  what  I  will 
with  mine  own.  I  am  the  Keeper  of  the  Gate.  Fifty 
and  four  years  have  I  kept  the  gate,  selling  water 
and  food  at  a  price,  giving  freely  of  water  and  food 
to  those  who  lacked  silver.  Whither  they  go,  whence 
they  come  and  why — it  is  not  my  affair.  Bethink 
you,  Sefior,  had  I  sought  to  stay  such  as  pass  on  to 
the  waste  places — sometimes  swiftly — I  had  not  kept 
the  gate  for  fifty  years,  nor  four.  Another  had  sat 
in  my  stead,  long  since.  Farewell  then,  Sefior— go 
with  God! 

Now,  thou  very  tired  horse  and  disconsolate,  I  am 
to  rub  thee  with  care,  and  give  thee  water  sparingly, 
abundant  feed  and  soft  litter — yes  and  to  cheer  thee, 
with  kind  words.  An  ill-favored  Sefior,  that :  yet  he 
charged  me  to  speak  comfortable  words  to  you.  Ho ! 
How  art  thou  caked  with  mire,  Droophead !  Without 
doubt,  that  Sefior  was  in  haste. 


n 

BEYOND  THE  DESEBT 

MACGEEGOE  was  in  haste.  He  pressed  forward  in 
a  close,  fine  rain.  A  huge  and  graceless  hulk  of  a 
man,  he  rode  craftily,  a  brisk  jog,  a  brisk  walk ;  where 
the  trail  was  steep,  he  slipped  from  the  saddle  and 
led  the  way  to  the  next  smooth  bit. 

Hard  by  the  head  of  the  pass,  where  the  peaks  of 
San  Quentin — monstrous,  exaggerated,  fantastic- 
frowned  through  fog  and  mist,  he  paused  on  a  jut- 
ting shoulder  in  a  brief  lull  between  showers.  The 
night  drew  near.  The  fog  lifted  for  a  space  as  a 
gust  of  wind  whipped  between  the  hills :  far  behind 
and  below  there  was  a  glimpse  of  toiling  horsemen, 
a  black  wavering  line  where  the  trail  clung  to  the 
hillside. 

MacGregor  lifted  the  heavy  brows  that  pent  his 
piggy  little  red  eyes.  His  face  was  a  large  red  face, 
heavy,  square,  coarse-featured,  stubbly.  It  now  ex- 
pressed no  emotion.  Unhurriedly,  he  took  up  a  long 
thirty-forty  from  the  sling  below  the  stirrup  leather, 
raised  the  sights  high,  and  dropped  two  bullets  in  the 
trail  before  the  advancing  party.  They  shrank  back 
to  a  huddling  clump.  The  mist  shut  down. 

Under  shelter  of  his  long  slicker,  he  wiped  the  rifle 
carefully  and  returned  it  to  the  scabbard.  "  Per  sons 
of  no  experience,"  he  grumbled.  "They  ride  with 


4  WEST  IS  WEST 

small  caution  for  a  country  of  boulders  and  such- 
like cover.  If  the  half  o'  them  had  stayed  behind 
at  yonder  well  and  the  best  few  followed,  each  with 
a  led  horse,  they  might  well  ha'  caught  me  oop  ere  I 
could  win  across  yonder  weary  plain.  No  judgment 
at  all!" 

The  critic  clicked  his  teeth  disparagingly  as  he  re- 
mounted. 

"  'Tis  plain  I  have  naught  to  fear  from  these  gen- 
try, for  all  the  heavy  weight  this  red  horse  of  mine 
must  carry.  For  they  will  think  twice  and  again  at 
each  bend  and  rockfall.  Aweel — I  hae  seen  worse 
days.  Thanks  to  this  good  rain,  I  needna  fear  the 
desert  either  for  mysel'  or  the  beastie.  Hunger  and 
great  weariness,  pain  and  jostling  death,  these  I  can 
make  shift  to  bear — but  against  naked  thirst  no  man 
can  strive  for  long.  But  beyond  the  desert?  Ay, 
there's  the  kittle  bit.  There's  a  telephone  line  awa' 
to  the  north,  and  if  the  good  folk  of  Datil  be  at  all 
of  enterprising  mind,  'tis  like  I  shall  hear  tidings. 

Dawn  found  him  beyond  the  desert,  breasting  the 
long  slow  ridges  beneath  the  wooded  mountain  of  the 
Datils.  The  storm  was  passed  away.  Behind,  the 
far  peaks  of  San  Quentin  fluttered  on  the  horizon, 
dream-pale;  and  then,  in  one  swift  moment,  flamed 
at  a  touch  of  sudden  sun,  radiant  and  rejoicing, 
sharp  against  a  clean-washed  sky.  The  desert  brim- 
med with  a  golden  flood  of  light,  a  flood  which  rolled 
eastward  against  the  level,  to  check  and  break  and 
foam  against  the  dense,  cool  shadow  of  the  Datil 
Eange.  So  dense  and  so  black  was  that  shadow  that 
the  rambling  building  of  the  C  L  A  ranch  scarce 
bulked  blacker:  hardly  to  be  seen,  save  for  a  thin 


BEYOND  THE  DESERT  5 

wisp  of  wood  smoke  that  feathered  in  the  windless 
air. 

"Ay,"  said  the  horseman.    "Now  the  pot  boils. 
And  indeed  I  am  wondering  if  my  name  is  in  that 
pot.    For  here  comes  one  at  a  hand-gallop — wrang- 
ling   horses,    belike.      Now   he    sees    me    and    he 
swerves  this  way.  Truly,  I  am  very  desirous  that  this 
man  may  be  Mundy  himself.  I  would  ever  like  best  to 
deal  with  principals — and  Mundy  is  reputed  a  man  of 
parts.    Be  it  Clay  Mundy  or  another,  yon  bit  wire 
has  gien  him  word  and  warning  to  mark  who  comes 
this  way.    I  must  e  'en  call  science  to  my  own  employ. 
Hullo,  Central ! .  .  .    Hullo !    Give  me  Spunk,  please. 
.  .  .  Hullo,  Spunk.    MacGregor,  speaking.     Spunk, 
I  am  now  come  to  a  verra  straight  place,  and  I  would 
be  extremely  blithe  to  hae  your  company.    For  to 
deal  plainly  wi'  you,  my  neck  is  set  on  the  venture, 
no  less  ...  I  am  obligit  to  you.  Ye  hae  aye  been  de- 
pendable.    See  if  you  canna  bring  Common-sense 
wi'  you.     Hullo,  Central!     Give  me  Brains.     .  .  . 
What's  that?    No  answer?    Try  again,  Central,  gin 
ye  please.    The  affair  is  verra  urgent." 

The  oncoming  rider  slowed  down:  MacGregor 
turned  to  meet  him,  his  two  hands  resting  on  the 
saddle  horn. 

"  'Tis  Mundy 's  self,  thanks  be,"  he  muttered. 
' l  Here  is  the  narrow  bit.  Aha,  Brains !  Are  ye  there 
at  the  last  of  it?  That's  weel!  I  shall  need  you!" 

He  rode  on  at  a  walk.    The  riders  drew  at  abreast. 

"Hands  up,  you!"  Mundy 's  gun  was  drawn  and 
leveled  with  incredible  swiftness. 

MacGregor 's  hands  did  not  move  from  the  saddle 
horn.  "And  that  is  no  just  what  ye  might  call  a 


6  WEST  IS  WEST 

ceevil  greeting,  Mister  Mundy.  Ye  give  me  but  a 
queer  idea  of  your  hospitality.  Man,  ye  think  puirly ! 
Do  you  see  this  rifle  under  my  knee!  Thirty-forty, 
smokeless— and  had  I  meant  ye  ill,  it  was  but  step- 
ping behind  a  bit  bush  to  tumble  you  from  the  saddle 
j  or  e'er  ye  clapped  eyes  on  me." 

"You  have  my  name,  I  see,"  said  Mundy.  "And 
there  is  certainly  some  truth  in  your  last  saying. 
You  might  have  taken  a  pot  shot  at  me  from  ambush, 
easy  enough.  Guess  you  didn't  know  we  were  ex- 
pecting you.  Unless  all  signs  fail,  you  are  fresh 
from  the  loot  of 'Luna.  Now  I've  had  about  enough 
nonsense  from  you.  Stick  up  those  hands  or  I'll 
blow  you  into  eternity." 

"And  that  is  a  foolish  obsairve,"  said  MacGregor, 
composedly.  "  'Into  eternity!'  says  he!  Man,  I 
wonder  at  ye!  We're  in  eternity  just  noo — every 
minute  of  it — as  much  as  we  e'er  shall  be.  For  the 
ambush,  you  do  me  great  wrong.  I  was  well  know- 
ing to  yon  mischief-making  telephone — but  I  took 
my  chance  of  finding  you  a  man  of  sense.  For  my 
hands,  they  are  all  verra  well  where  they  are.  I 
have  conscientious  scruples  aboot  this  hands  up  busi- 
ness. It  is  undeegnified  in  the  highest  degree.  Man, 
theenk  ye  I  have  nae  self-luve  at  all.  That 
might  be  all  verra  weel  for  a  slim  young  spark  like 
you,  wi'  looks  and  grace  to  bear  it  off.  But  me,  with 
my  years  and  the  hulking  carcass  of  me,  in  such  a 
bairnly  ploy — man,  I  should  look  just  reedeeculous ! 
The  thing  cannae  be  done." 

"Very  well.  I  am  going  to  get  your  gun.  Keep 
your  hands  on  the  saddle  horn.  I  have  you  covered. ' ' 

"  'Tis  early  yet  in  the  day,  Mr.  Mundy."    Mac- 


BEYOND  THE  DESERT  7 

Gregor  held  the  same  attitude  and  the  same  unmoved 
composure.  "Dinna  be  hasty  in  closing  in  upon  me. 
I  was  thinking  to  propose  a  compromise." 

"A  compromise?  And  me  with  a  finger  on  the 
trigger — me  that  could  hit  you  blindfolded! " 

"Nae  doot  of  it  all.  I  am  well  acquaint  wi'  you 
by  repute.  Ye  have  the  name  of  a  man  of  speerit  and 
of  one  skilly  wi'  his  gun  and  unco'  swift  to  the  back 
o'  that.  Myself,  I  am  slow  on  the  draw.  "Tis  la- 
mentable, but  I  must  needs  admit  it.  I  am  no  what 
ye  might  ca'  preceesly  neemble  of  body  or  of  mind — 
but,  man!  if  I'm  slow  I'm  extraordinary  eefeecient! 
If  you  crook  that  finger  you  are  speaking  of,  I  am 
thinking  the  two  of  us  may  miss  the  breakfast  cook- 
ing yonder.  For  myself,  I  am  free  to  say  I  had  far 
liefer  crook  elbows  wi'  you  over  a  thick  beefsteak.'* 

"Fool!  I  can  shoot  you  three  times  before  you 
get  to  your  gun. ' ' 

"Nae  doot,  nae  doot,"  said  MacGregor  pacifically. 
"It  has  been  done — yet  here  am  I,  little  the  waur  o't. 
Come,  Mr.  Mundy,  I  must  deal  plainly  wi'  you.  Long 
ago,  that  place  where  your  ranch  is  was  pointit  oot 
to  me  by  yon  square-capped  peak  behind  for  land- 
mark. And  I  came  here  the  noo  rather  than  to  any 
ither  spot  aboot  this  wide  circle  of  the  plains  of  San 
Quentin,  preceesly  because  ye  are  bespoken  a  man  of 
parts  and  experience — and  thereby  the  better  able 
to  judge  weel  and  deal  wisely  with  another  man  as 
good  as  yoursel'.  " 

"Sure  of  that?" 

"Positeeve.  Now,  understand  me  weel.  I  am  lay- 
ing no  traps  to  tempt  your  eye  to  rove — so  dinna 
look,  but  e'en  take  my  word  for  it.  But  gin  ye  were 


8  WEST  IS  WEST 

free  to  look  ye  must  see,  as  I  did  just  ere  you  carne^ 
some  ten-twelve  black  specks  coining  this  way  ahind 
me  on  the  plain,  a  long  hour  back,  or  near  two — and 
ye  may  draw  your  ain  conclusions  thereby.  To  speak 
the  plain  truth,  I  doot  they  mean  me  nae  guid  at  a'." 

"I  should  conclude  that  this  was  your  unlucky 
day.  Mr.  Whatever-your-name-is.  Quite  aside  from 
these  gentlemen  behind,  or  from  myself — and  you 
possibly  be  underrating  me — the  whole  country  east 
of  here  is  warned  by  telephone.  Heavy,  heavy  hangs 
over  your  head ! ' ' 

"I  am  a  little  struck  wi'  that  circumstance  my- 
self," said  MacGregor  simply.  "Ye  see  the  seetua- 
tion  wi'  great  clearness,  Mr.  Mundy.  But  I  have  seen 
worse  days  and  have  good  hopes  to  come  fairly  off 
from  this  one  yet.  For  if  you  can  eenstruct  me  in 
what  way  I  should  be  any  worse  off  to  be  shot  by  you 
just  now,  than  to  be  hanged  in  a  tow  from  a  pleasant 
juniper  a  little  later,  after  tedious  delays  and  par- 
ley-wows, I  shall  be  the  more  obleegit.  For  then  I 
can  plainly  see  my  way  to  give  myself  up  to  you.  If 
you  canna  do  this,  then  I  shall  expect  ye,  as  a  reas- 
oning man  yourself,  to  note  that  ye  can  have  naught 
to  gain  by  changing  shots  wi'  one  who  has  naught  to 
lose,  and  to  conseeder  the  proposeetion  I  make  to  you. 
— as  I  should  surely  do  and  the  cases  were  changed." 

"You  put  it  very  attractively  and  I  see  youi; 
point,"  said  Mundy.  A  slow  smile  lit  up  his  face. 
He  put  his  gun  back  in  the  scabbard.  "Well,  let's 
have  it. ' ' 

"And  a  verra  guid  choice,  too.  If  it  be  not  asldn' 
too  much,  let  us  e'en  be  riding  toward  your  rancli 
gate  while  ye  hear  my  offer ;  for  when  the  sun  reaches 


BEYOND  THE  DESERT  9 

here  we  should  be  seen — and  yonder  weary  bodies 
gain  on  us  while  we  stand  here  daffing. ' ' 

They  made  a  strange  contrast:  Mundy,  smooth, 
slender  and  graceful,  black  of  hair  and  eye,  poised, 
lithe  and  tense,  a  man  to  turn  and  look  after :  Mac- 
Gregor,  stiff,  unwieldy,  awkward,  gross,  unkempt, 
battered,  year-bitten. 

"For  the  first  of  it,  ye  should  know  that  not  one 
of  these  gentry  behind  have  seen  my  face,  the  which 
I  kep'  stre^ectly  covered  durin'  my  brief  stay  in  Luna. 
Second,  though  no  great  matter,  ye  may  care  to  know 
that  the  bit  stroke  I  pulled  off  in  Luna  was  even  less 
than  justice.  For  within  year  and  day  a  good  friend 
of  mine  was  there  begowked  with  cozened  by  that 
same  partnership — yes  and  that  wi'  treachery  and 
broken  trust  to  the  back  of  it — of  mair  than  I  regain- 
ed for  him  by  plain  and  open  force  at  noonday.  So 
much  for  that — though  I  do  not  hold  you  squeamish. 
Third,  for  your  own  self,  it  is  far  known  that  you  and 
the  Wyandotte  Company  and  Steel-foot  Morgan  are 
not  agreeing  verra  weel " 

"You  never  heard  that  I've  taken  any  the  worst 
of  it,  did  you?" 

"No,  but  that  they  keep  you  weel  occupied.  Also, 
that  hired  warriors  from  the  Tonto  are  to  join  wi' 
Webb  of  the  Wyandotte.  So  hear  me  now.  I  need 
nae  ask  of  ye  if  ye  have  ony  but  discreet  persons 
aboot  ye?" 

Mundy  laughed.  ' '  Boys  are  floating  in  the  Malibu 
hills  with  a  pack  outfit.  No  cne  at  the  ranch  today 
but  Hurley,  the  water-mason.  He's  all  right." 

"Verra  weel.  Do  you  send  him  away  betimes  on 
that  beastie  atween  your  knees,  and  I  will  be  water- 


io  WEST  IS  WEST 

mason  to  you — the  mair  that  I  can  run  your  steam- 
pump  with  the  best.  The  story  will  be  that  the 
outlaw-body  passed  by  the  night,  unseen,  liftin'  your 
night-horse  as  he  flitted,  and  leavin'  this  sorrel  of 
mine.  Your  man  Hurley  can  join  your  outfit  and  lose 
himself.  That  will  be  my  gain,  for  I  shall  be  blame- 
less Maxwell,  your  water-mason — and  who  so  eager 
to  run  down  the  runagate  robber  as  he  ?  When  they 
see  how  it  is,  that  their  man  has  got  clean  away,  these 
men  from  Luna  will  know  that  the  jig  is  definitely 
up,  and  they  will  be  all  for  the  eating  and  sleeping. ' ' 

"Very  pretty,  and  it  can  be  done — since  they  do 
rot  know  you,"  agreed  Mundy.  "They  will  not  be 
expecting  their  outlaw  to  call  them  in  to  breakfast, 
certainly.  But  I  do  not  see  where  I  am  to  gain  any- 
thing." 

"You  are  to  hear,  then,"  said  the  outlaw.  "I  will 
praise  the  bridge  that  carries  me  over,  but  I  will  do 
more,  too :  I  will  mend  that  bridge.  I  will  fight  your 
battles  with  you  against  all  comers.  Not  murder,  you 
mind,  but  plain  warfare  against  men  fit  to  war." 

"A  fighting  man,  and  slow  on  the  draw?" 

"  I  am  that  same,  both  the  one  and  the  other.  Slow, 
I  can  not  deny  it — slow,  in  compare  with  the  best. 
But  man,  I'm  experienced,  I'm  judgmatical,  and  I'm 
fine  on  the  latter  end.  I'm  a  good  person  to  have  at 
your  right  hand  or  your  left.  Some  way,  I  dinna 
prosper  verra  weel  as  chief  man— but  as  the  next 
best,  there  is  none  better  rides,  leather. " 

;'You  come  well  recommended." 

"By  myself,  you  are  meaning?  And  just  that  you 
know  the  worth  of  that  recommend,  I  am  telling  ye 
that  my  name  is  no  exactly  Maxwell.  You  have  had 


BEYOND  THE  DESERT  ir 

word  of  me,  your  own  self,  in  El  Paso,  where  indeed 
I  saw  your  face,  though  you  saw  not  mine.  And  I 
would  have  ye  to  observe,  Mr.  Mundy,  that  I  keepit 
my  name  streectly  to  myself  for  such  time  as  ye 
might  have  taken  the  sound  of  it  as  a  threat,  and  give 
it  to  you  now  only  when  it  comes  mair  as  a  promise. 
So  now  I  offer  you  the  naked  choice,  peace  or  war — 
and  the  last  word  is  with  you.  A  hundred  miles  and 
twenty,  at  the  least  of  it,  I  have  now  made  in  sax-and- 
thirty  hours — and  blow  high,  blow  low,  I  ride  no  step 
beyond  yonder  gate. ' ' 

"I  am  decidedly  inclined  toward  peace,"  said  Clay 
Mundy,  smiling  again,  * '  if  only  to  hear  you  talk.  For 
you  talk  convincingly.  My  own  risk  in  the  matter — 
which  you  have  been  kind  enough  not  to  mention — al- 
so moves  me  that  way.  And,  after  all,  your  late  ex- 
ploit at  Luna  is  nothing  to  me.  But  as  to  your  value 
in  my  little  range  war — you  forgot  to  mention  the 
name,  you  know. ' ' 

' '  The  name  is  MacGregor. ' ' 

"Not  Sandy  MacGregor?    Of  Black  Mountain?" 

"That  same.    Plain  shooting  done  neatly." 

"You're  on,"  said  Clay  Mundy. 

So  MacGregor  became  Maxwell,  and  Mundy 's.  The 
search  party  came,  and  swore,  and  slept;  for  they 
were  weary.  None  mistrusted  Maxwell,  that  kindly 
and  capable  cook,  who  sympathized  so  feelingly  with 
them  concerning  the  upness  of  the  jig.  In  the  seven- 
up  tournament  organized  after  that  big  sleep,  Max- 
well won  the  admiration  of  all  and  the  money  of 
most :  and  they  went  home  mingling  praises  of  their 
new  friend  with  execrations  of  the  escaped  outlaw. 


m 

PICTURED  BOOK 

"AND  the  herdsman  of  Gerar  did  strive,  with 
Isaac's  herdsmen,  saying,  The  water  is  ours." 

That  was  at  the  well  Esek.  The  patriarchs  were 
always  quarreling  with  their  neighbors  or  with  each 
other  over  wells,  pasturage  and  other  things  — 
mavericks,  maybe.  Abraham,  Laban,  Lot,  Isaac,  Ja- 
cob— they  led  a  stirring  life,  following  the  best  grass. 
You  ought  to  read  about  them  sometime. 

It  is  entirely  probable  that  Terah  went  forth  from 
Ur  of  the  Chaldees  either  because  the  grass  was  short 
or  because  he  had  no  friends  on  the  grand  jury. 

Cattlemen  have  not  changed  much  since  then.  They 
still  swing  a  big  loop:  it  is  as  risky  as  ever  to  let 
stock  out  on  shares:  and  we  still  have  cattle  wars 
wherever  there  is  free  range,  because  of  the  spirit 
so  justly  expressed  by  Farmer  Jones:  "He  wasn't 
no  land  -hog — all  he  wants  is  just  what  joins  his'n." 

Human  nature  is  the  same  on  the  plains  of  Mamre 
or  of  San  Quentin:  so  there  is  no  new  thing  to  tell 
about  the  Mundy-Morgan  war.  Wrong  and  folly  and 
stubbornness ;  none  now  to  tell  whose  first  the  blame ; 
this  might  have  been  a  page  of  history. 

Strong  warriors,  able  leaders,  Ben  "Steel-foot" 
Morgan,  Webb  of  the  Wyandotte  outfit,  and  Clay 
Mundy:  sharp  and  bitter  hate  was  in  their  hearts, 

12 


PICTURED  ROCK  13 

and  the  feud  was  more  savage  than  the  usual  run 
of  cattle  wars:  carried  on  (of  course)  upon  a  higher 
plane  than  any  ' ' civilized"  warfare.  For  there  were 
restrictions,  there  were  limits.  To  rise  up  from  a 
man's  table  and  war  upon  that  man  while  the  taste 
of  his  bread  was  still  sweet  in  your  mouth — such 
dealing  would  have  been  unspeakable  infamy  in  the 
San  Quentin  country. 

Again,  you  might  be  unfriends  with  a  man  and  yet 
meet  on  neutral  ground  or  when  each  was  on  his  law- 
ful occasions,  without  trouble.  It  was  not  the  custom 
to  war  without  fresh  offense,  openly  given.  You 
must  not  smile  and  shoot.  You  must  not  shoot  an 
unarmed  man,  and  you  must  not  shoot  an  unwarned 
man.  Here  is  a  nice  distinction,  but  a  clear  one :  you 
might  not  ambush  your  enemy;  but  when  you  fled 
and  your  enemy  followed,  you  might  then  waylay 
and  surprise  without  question  to  your  honor,  for  they 
were  presumed  to  be  on  their  guard  and  sufficiently 
warned.  The  rattlesnake's  code,  to  warn  before  he 
strikes,  no  better:  a  queer,  lop-sided,  topsy  turvy, 
jumbled  and  senseless  code — but  a  code  for  all  that. 
And  it  is  worthy  of  note  that  no  better  standard  has 
ever  been  kept  with  such  faith  as  this  barbarous  code 
of  the  fighting  man. 

Eoundup  season  passed  with  no  fresh  outbreak  of 
hostilities.  After  the  steer-shipping,  Mr.  Maxwell 
had  been  given  a  mount,  a  rope  and  a  branding  iron, 
and  so  turned  loose  to  learn  the  range.  This  was 
equivalent  to  letters  of  Marque  and  Reprisal. 

Mr.  Maxwell  was  camped  at  Whitewater,  alone. 
So  far,  he  had  passed  a  pleasant  day.  He  had  killed  a 
fat  buck  at  daybreak,  when  he  wrangled  horses. 


!I4  WEST  IS  .WEST 

Later,  he  had  ridden  leisurely  in  nooks  and  corners, 
branding  two  of  his  employer's  calves,  overlooked 
by  the  roundup,  two  of  the  Y  calves,  and  one  long 
eared  yearling — a  pleasing  total  of  five  for  the  C  L 
A  tally-book.  So  far  his  services  had  been  confined 
to  such  peaceful  activities  as  these :  the  war  had  lan- 
guished since  the  rains  set  in.  It  was  late  October 

o 

now,  and  the  rains  were  still  falling.  The  desert  was 
glorified  with  the  magic  of  that  belated  spring ;  the 
flowers  of  old  Apolonio's  youth  stood  stirrup-high 
once  more,  even  as  he  had  hoped  and  said. 

All  day  it  had  been  cloudy.  While  Mr.  Maxwell 
was  branding  his  maverick  it  began  to  sprinkle; 
when  he  loosed  it,  the  sprinkle  had  turned  to  rain, 
the  clouds  were  banked  dark  and  sullen  against  the 
mountains.  He  wriggled  into  his  slicker  and  started 
for  camp,  but  the  rain  was  now  a  blinding  storm  and 
he  was  glad  to  turn  his  back  to  its  fury  and  ride  his 
straightest  for  the  next  shelter. 

Pictured  Bock  is  an  overhanging  cliff  of  limestone, 
sheltered  from  three  winds.  Gray  walls  and  creamy 
roof  are  close  covered  with  the  weird  picture-writing 
of  Apache  and  Navajo,  a  record  of  the  wars  and  jour- 
neys of  generations. 

As  he  turned  the  bend  in  the  canon,  Maxwell  saw 
a  great  light  glowing  under  Picture  Rock,  now  veiled 
by  the  driving  sheets  of  rain,  now  beating  out  in 
gusts  across  the  murky  dark,  reflected  and  magnified 
by  the  cliff  behind.  Another,  storm-driven  like  him- 
self, was  before  him.  He  paused  at  the  hill-foot  and 
shouted : 

' '  Hullo,  the  house  I    Will  your  dog  bite  1 '  > 

"Hi!"    It  was  a  startled  voice:  a  slender  figure 


PICTURED  ROCK  15 

in  a  yellow  slicker  appeared  beside  the  fire.  "Dog's 
dead,  poor  fellow — starved  to  death !  Come  on  up ! " 

The  C  L  A  man  rode  up  the  short  zig-zag  of  the 
trail  to  the  fire-lit  level.  He  took  but  one  glance  and 
swept  off  his  hat,  for  the  face  he  saw  beneath  the 
turned  up  sombrero  was  the  bright  and  sparkling 
face  of  a  girl. 

"You  will  be  Miss  Bennie  May  Morgan?  I  saw 
you  in  Magdalena  at  the  steer-shipping. '  ' 

"Quite  right.  And  you  are  Mr.  Sandy  Maxwell, 
the  new  warrior  for  Clay  Mundy. ' ' 

"Faces  like  ours  are  not  easily  forgot,'*  said  Max- 
well. 

Miss  Bennie  laughed.  Her  eyes  crinkled  when  she 
laughed.  * '  I  will  give  you  a  safe  conduct.  Get  down 
— unless  you  are  afraid  of  hurting  your  reputation, 
that  is."  She  sat  upon  her  saddle  blankets  where 
they  were  spread  before  the  fire,  and  leaned  back 
against  the  saddle. 

The  C  L  A  man  climbed  heavily  down  and  strode 
to  the  fire,  where  he  stood  dripping  and  silent.  The 
grinding  of  boulders  in  the  flooded  canon,  rose  loud 
and  louder,  swelled  to  a  steady  ominous  roar  by  the 
multitudinous  echoes  of  the  hills. 

"Well!  How  about  that  lunch?"  demanded  Miss 
Bennie  sharply.  "It's  past  noon." 

"Sorry,  Miss  Morgan,  but  I  have  not  so  much  as 
a  crumb.  And  that  is  a  bad  thing,  for  you  are  far 
from  home,  and  who  knows  when  this  weary  storm 
will  be  by?  But  doubtless  they  will  be  abroad  to  seek 
for  you. ' ' 

Miss  Bennie  laid  aside  the  hat  and  shook  her  curly 
head  decidedly.  "Not  for  me.  Dad  thinks  I'm  visit- 


i6 

ing  Effie  at  the  X  L  and  Effie  thinks  I'm  home  by 
this  time.  But  this  storm  won't  last.  The  sun  will 
be  out  by  three.  You '11  see!  And  now,  if  you  please, 
since  you  can't  feed  me,  hadn't  you  better  entertain 
me?  Sit  down,  do!" 

"It  is  like  that  I  should  prove  entertaining  for  a 
young  maid,  too." 

"Oh,  you  never  can  tell!  Suppose,  for  a  starter, 
you  tell  me  what  you  are  thinking  so  busily." 

"I  am  thinking,"  said  Maxwell,  slowly,  "that  you 
are  a  bonnie  lassie  and  a  merry  one.  And  I  was  think- 
ing one  more  thing,  too.  The  X  L  is  awa'  to  the 
southeast  and  the  Morgan  home  ranch  as  far  to  the 
southwest.  Now  what  may  Miss  Bennie  Morgan  need 
of  so  much  northing,  ten  miles  long  aside  from  the 
straight  way,  and  her  friend  Effie  thinking  she  was 
safe  home  at  all  I  And  then  I  thought  to  myself,  the 
folk  at  San  Quentin  are  very  quiet  now.  It  is  to  be 
thought  that  the  season  of  great  plenty  has  put  them 
in  better  spunk  with  the  world.  And  it  is  an  ill  thing 
that  a  way  cannot  be  found  to  make  an  end  of  this 
brawling  for  good  and  all.  And,  thinks  I,  the  bonny 
Earl  of  Murray  himself  was  not  more  goodly  to  the 
eye  than  Clay  Mundy — and  it  is  a  great  peety  for  all 
concerned  that  Clay  Mundy  is  not  storm-bound  this 
day  at  Picture  Rock,  rather  than  I ! " 

"Well!"  Miss  Bennie  gasped  and  laughed  frank- 
ly, blushed  red,  neck  and  cheek.  '  *  Oh,  you  men !  And 
while  you  were  making  this  up— 

"  It  is  wbat  I  thought, ' '  said  Maxwell  stoutly.  On- 
ly I  was  nae  thinking  words,  d'ye  see?  I  was  just 
thinking  thoughts.  And  it  is  no  verra  easy  to  put 
thoughts  into  words." 


PICTURED  ROCK  17 

"Well,  then — while  you  were  thinking  all  those 
preposterous  thoughts,  I  was  seeing  a  wonderful  pic- 
ture, very  much  like  this  storm,  and  this  cave,  and 
this  fire,  and  us.  If  I  were  a  painter,  this  is  what  I 
would  try  to  paint :  a  hill-side  like  this — so  you  might 
feel  what  you  could  not  see,  the  black  night  and  the 
wild  storm.  The  black  night,  and  a  red  fire  glowing 
in  a  cave-mouth,  and  a  wind-bent  tree  close  beside: 
and  by  the  fire  a  man  straining  into  the  night  at  some 
unseen  danger ;  a  cave-man,  clad  in  skins,  with  long 
matted  hair,  broad-shouldered,  long-armed,  fero- 
cious, brutal — but  unafraid.  He  is  half -crouching,  his 
kaees  bent  to  spring :  he  is  peering  under  his  hand : 
the  other  hand  clutches  a  knotted  club :  a  dog  straina 
beside  his  foot,  snarling  against  the  night,  teeth 
bared,  glaring,  stiff  legs  braced  back,  neck  bristling : 
behind  them,  half -hidden,  shrinking  in  the  shadow — 
a  woman  and  a  child.  And  the  name  of  that  picture 
would  be  '  Home ! '  " 

Maxwell's  heavy  face  lit  up,  his  dull  and  little  eye 
gleamed  with  an  answering  spark,  his  sluggish  blood 
thrilled  at  the  spirit  and  beauty  of  her  :his  voice  rang 
with  a  beat  of  frank  admiration.  "And  that  is  a 
brave  thought  you  have  conjured  up,  too,  and  I  will 
be  warrant  you  would  be  unco'  fine  woman  to  a  cave- 
man— though  I'm  judgin'  you  would  be  having  a  bit 
club  of  your  own. ' '  He  paused,  fixed  her  with  a  me- 
ditative eye,  and  spoke  again  in  a  lighter  tone.  "I 
recognize  myself,  and  the  dog  is  dead,  puir  fellow — 
starved  to  death,  you  said.  But  I  would  have  you  ob- 
serve that  the  thoughts  of  the  two  of  us  differed  but 
verra  little  when  all  is  said — f  orbye  it  ran  in  my  mind 
that  a  much  younger  person  was  to  be  cave-man. 


1 8  WEST  IS  WEST 

to  you.  And  you  gave  me  safe-conduct,  too!  Are 
you  to  be  man-sworn,  then,  and  me  trusting  to  you?" 

1  'Now  you  are  trying  to  torment  me,"  said  Miss 
Bennie,  briskly.  "I  can't  have  that,  you  know.  Bet- 
ter give  it  up.  Roll  a  smoke.  I  know  you  want  to. 
The  storm  is  slacking  already — we  will  be  going 
soon." 

"A  pipe,  since  you  are  so  kind,"  said  Maxwell, 
fumbling  for  it. 

"Do  you  admire  your  friend  Clay  Mundy  so 
much?"  said  Miss  Bennie  next,  elbows  on  knees,  chin 
in  hands. 

Maxwell  rolled  a  slow  eye  on  her,  and  blew  out  a 
cloud  of  smoke.  "My  employer.  I  did  not  say 
friend,  though  if  I  like  him  no  worse  it  may  come 
to  that  yet.  He  has  the  devil's  own  beauty — which 
thing  calls  the  louder  to  me,  misshapen  as  you  see 
me.  He  is  a  gallant  horseman,  fame  cries  him  brave 
and  proven.  But  I  am  not  calling  him  friend  yet  till 
I  know  the  heart  of  him.  Fifty-and-five  I  am,  and  I 
can  count  on  the  fingers  of  my  twa  hands  the  names 
of  those  I  have  been  willing  to  call  wholly  friend — 
forbye  one  of  those  few  was  my  enemy  to  my  over- 
throw. So  you  will  not  be  taking  Clay  Mundy  to 
your  cave  upon  my  say-so  till  I  am  better  acquaint 
wi'  him.  But  dootless  you  know  him  verra  well 
yourself. ' '  , 

Miss  Bennie  evaded  this  issue.  She  became  sud- 
denly gloomy.  "It  is  plain  that  you  are  a  stranger 
here,  since  you  talk  so  glibly  of  any  lasting  peace  in 
the  San  Quentin.  A  wicked,  stiff-necked  unreasoning 
pack,  they  are — dad  and  all !  There  has  never  been 
anything  but  wrong  and  hate  here,  outrage  and  re- 


PICTURED  ROCK  19 

venge,  and  there  never  will  be.  It  is  enough  to  make 
one  believe  in  the  truth  of  original  sin  and  total  de- 
pravity ! ' ' 

' '  No  truth  at  all ! ' '  cried  Maxwell  warmly.  * '  Oree- 
ginal  sin  is  just  merely  a  fact — no  truth  at  a ' !  Folks 
are  aye  graspin'  at  some  puir  halflin  fact  and  settin* 
it  up  to  be  the  truth.  It  takes  at  least  three  trees  to 
make  a  row,  and  it  needs  at  least  three  facts  to  make 
a  truth.  Mankind  is  blind,  foolish  and  desperately 
wicked — yes,  take  it  from  me  that  am  an  old  ruffian. 
But  mankind  is  also  eencurably  good — wise  and 
strong  and  splendid  and  kindly  and  brave — in  your 
time  of  sorrow  and  danger  you  will  find  it  so — and 
there's  another  glaring  fact  for  you!  With  endless 
rain  earth  would  drown,  wi'  endless  sun  it  would  be 
a  cinder :  look  about  you  now,  see  what  sun  and  rain 
and  evil  and  good  have  wrought  together,  grass  and 
flower  and  bud  and  fruit,  the  bonny  warld  and  the 
bonny  race  o'  men!  World  and  man,  the  machine 
Works !  And  there 's  the  third  fact  for  you,  lassie, 
and  the  weightiest  fact.  We  are  a  Going  Concern; 
we  pay  a  profit  to  our  Owner !  And  for  the  truth  be- 
hind these  three  facts,  may  not  this  be  it :  That  if  we 
are  at  once  evil  and  good,  it  is  the  good  God  who 
made  us  that  way,  not  in  sloth,  but  because  He 
wanted  us  to  be  that  way?  It  is  so  I  think.  But  it 
is  a  strange  thing  to  me  that  I  am  most  roundly 
abused  for  disrespect  to  the  Maker  whene'er  I  dare 
venture  the  mild  guess  that  perhaps  He  knew  what 
He  was  about!" 

^"A  very  fine  sermon,  reverend  sir,  though  I  did 
not  get  the  test."  said  Miss  Bennie,  twinkling.  "And 
now  if  you  will  give  me  your  benediction,  I  will  be  on 


20  WEST  IS  .WEST 

my  way  soon.  The  storm  is  breaking.  It  will  clear 
as  suddenly  as  it  came  on." 

Maxwell  shook  out  the  saddle  blankets  and  saddled 
her  horse.  "For  the  text,  it  is  this:  'And  God  saw 
everything  that  He  had  made  and  behold  it  was  very 
good. ' — And  I  am  an  old  fool  as  well  as  an  old  ruffi- 
an ;  for  I  have  wearied  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  no,  you  haven't.  Your  theology  took  my 
breath  away,  rather.  It  was  very  unexpected." 

"I  will  be  seeing  that  you  get  safe  home " 

"You  mustn't.  It  would  only  make  you  a  hard 
ride  for  nothing.  No  need  of  it  at  all.  There  is  time 
for  me  to  get  home  while  the  sun  is  still  an  hour 
high." 

"It  doesn't  seem  right,"  protested  Maxwell. 

"Really,  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't,"  said  Miss  Bon- 
nie earnestly.  "I  don't  want  to  be  rude,  but  I  am 
still — "  She  gave  him  her  eyes  and  blushed  to  her 
hair — "I  am  still .  .  .  north  of  where  I  should  be,  as 
you  so  shrewdly  observed.  And  your  camp  lies  far- 
ther yet  to  the  north. ' ' 

"Good-by,  then,  Miss  Morgan." 

"Good-by,  Mr.  MacGregor." 

He  stared  after  her  as  she  rode  clattering  down 
the  steep.  ' '  MacGregor ! "  he  repeated.  ' '  MacGregor, 
says  she !  And  never  a  soul  of  the  San  Quentin  kens 
aught  of  the  late  MacGregor  save  Clay  Mundy's  own 
self!  Here  is  news!  Is  she  so  unco'  chief  wi'  him 
as  that,  then?  And  who  told  her  whaur  my  camp 
was?  She  was  glib  to  say  that  she  had  time  enow  to 
go  home  afore  sundown — but  she  was  careful  she 
didnae  say  she  was  gaun  there !  Little  lady,  it  is  in 
my  mind  that  you  are  owre  far  north!" 


PICTURED  ROCK  21 

She  waved  her  hand  gaily ;  her  fresh  young  voice 
floated  back  to  him,  lingering,  soft  and  slow: 

He  was  a  braw  gallant, 

And  he  rid  at  the  ring; 
And  the  bonny  Earl  of  Murray 
Oh!  He  might  have  been  a  king. 

He  was  a  braw  gallant, 
And  he  played  at  the  glove; 

And  the  bonny  Earl  of  Murray 
Oh!  He  was  the  Queen's  lovet 

Oh!  Lang  may  his  lady 
Luke  owre  the  castle  down, 

Ere  she  see  the  Earl  of  Murray 
Come  sounding  thro'  the  town. 

The  girl  passed  from  sight  down  the  narrow  canon. 
MacGregor-Maxwell  gave  his  head  a  shaking  then, 
to  clear  his  thoughts,  and  put  foot  to  stirrup.  When 
he  came  to  the  beaten  trail  again,  where  the  horse's 
feet  pattered  rhythmically  on  the  firm  ground,  Mac- 
Gregor  half-sang,  half -crooned,  a  plaintive  and  wan- 
dering air: 

Then  I  pray  you  do  not  trust  the  hawk  again, 
The  cruel  hawk  that  mocks  thy  love,  like  me. 

Oh,  alone,  betrayed  and  sad  although  I  leave  thee, 
Yet  the  wandering  traitor  weeps,  poor  love,  for 
thee — Ay!  Paloma  azull 

"The  de'il  and  his  horns!  Now  why  do  I  sing 
such  an  ill-omened  and  unchancy  song  as  that?"  He 
shook  his  great  shoulders,  as  if  to  shake  off  a  weight : 


22  WEST  IS  WEST 

lie  held  his  cupped  hand  to  his  mouth.  "  Hullo,  Cen- 
tral! Can  you  get  Brains  for  me?  ...  Try  again, 
please.  .  .  .  Now,  Brains,  you  are  partly  acquaint 
wi'  this  day's  doings.  But  did  you  mark  the  bonny 
blush  of  her  at  the  name  of  Clay  Mundy — and  her 
so  far  from  the  plain  way,  wi'  no  cause  given?  .  .  . 
Ye  dinna?  .  .  .  Brains,  you're  but  a  cauld,  feckless, 
dusty-dry  thing,  when  all's  said.  Well  then,  I  am 
telling  you  of  it.  And  what  am  I  to  do  in  such  a  case 
as  that  ?  .  .  .  A  little  louder,  please !  .  .  .  Oh !  I  am 
to  see  where  Clay  Mundy  rides  this  day,  if  it  is  any 
affair  of  mine — is  that  it?.  .  .  Surely  it  is  my  busi- 
ness. Any  man  is  natural  protector  to  any  woman 
against  any  man  except  himself.  .  .  .  And  if  he 
means  her  naething  but  good?  ...  It  is  what  I  will 
know.  Then  I  will  be  best  man — and  to  be  best  man  at 
this  employ  should  be  no  empty  form.  For  indeed  I 
think  the  Morgans  are  like  to  be  little  pleased. 

"Aweel,  Brains,  I  will  e'en  do  your  bidding,  and 
I  will  seek  proof  where  Clay  Mundy  fares  this  day — 
though  I  tell  you  plainly  that  I  know  very  well  now. 
And  I  scorn  for  a  slow,  speeritless,  doddering  slug- 
gard—  you  and  your  proofs!  You  can  but  look 
through  a  hole  in  a  stone  wall,  at  the  most  of  it.  What 
are  walls  for  but  to  leap  over — can  you  tell  me  that? 
Show  me  once  a  braw  lass  and  a  high  hard  wall  and 
a  lad  beyond,  and  I  will  show  you  a  place  where  there 
shall  be  a  fine  climbing  done — the  more  when  the 
young  folk  are  so  bold  and  bonny  as  the  twa  of  them 
yonder  towards  the  sunset.  .  .  .  What's  that?  How 
do  I  know?  .  .  .  Brains,  I  wonder  at  ye,  I  fairly  pee- 
ty  you— and  that 's  the  truth  of  it.  Where  else  should 
he  be?" 


GOOD-BY 

"I  THOUGHT  it  was  you,"  said  Miss  Bennie  May 
Morgan.  " So  I  waited  for  you.  Aren't  you  rather 
out  of  your  own  range,  Mr.  Maxwell?  The  Mor- 
gans'11  get  you  if  you  don't  watch  out!" 

With  elaborate  surprise,  MacGregor  took  his  bear- 
ings from  the  distant  circling  hills.  "Why  so  I  am! 
I  was  on  my  way  to  Datil."  he  explained.  "I  see 
now" — he  jerked  a  thumb  back  over  his  shoulder — 
"that  I  should  have  ridden  east-like  this  morning 
instead  of  west." 

"It  is  shorter  that  way — and  dryer,"  she  agreed. 
"This  road  to  Datil  is  very  damp  after  you  pass 
California." 

"Shall  I  ride  with  you  a  bit  on  your  way?"  said 
MacGregor.  "I  can  still  get  back  to  my  camp  be- 
fore sundown.  Mind  you,  I  am  not  saying  at  all  that 
I  shall  go  to  my  camp  by  that  hour,  but  only  that 
there  is  time  enough." 

Then  Miss  Bennie  Morgan  knew  where  she  stood. 
She  nicked  at  her  stirrup  with  a  meditative  quirt. 
"Why,  I  said  something  about  like  that  to  you  last 
week  at  Pictured  Rock,  didn't  I?" 

"Very  much  like  that." 

"When  you  got  lost  today,"  said  Miss  Bennie 
thoughtfully,  "I  suppose  you  were  composing  a  ser- 
mon?" 

23 


24  WEST  IS  WEST 

"Why,  no,  I  wasnae.  It  was  like  this.  Clay  Mun- 
dy  set  off  for  Datil  early  this  morning,  you  see,  whilst 
1  staid  in  camp,  shoeing  horses.  He  was  riding  his 
Jugador  horse— fine  I  ken  the  crooked  foot  of  him. 
And  when  later  in  the  day  I  came  upon  the  track  of 
that  twisted  hoof,  I  found  suddenly  a  great  desire 
to  go  after  him  to  Datil,  where  I  have  never  yet  been. 
And  I  said  to  myself,  'Plainly  if  you  follow  this 
track  you  will  come  to  that  place. '  And  so  you  see 
me  here." 

"And  now  that  you're  here,  Mr. ?" 

"Maxwell — not  MacGregor,"  said  MacGregor. 

"Thank  you — Maxwell — not  MacGregor.  I  must 
remember  that. ' '  She  turned  clear,  unflinching  eyes 
upon  him.  "Well,  let's  have  it!" 

"Er — why — eh!"  said  MacGregor,  and  swallowed 
hard.  "I  don't  quite  understand  you." 

"Oh,  yes  you  do!"  said  Miss  Bennie  cheerfully. 
"Don't  squirm.  What's  on  your  mind?" 

"It  is  now  on  my  mind  that  it  would  be  none  such 
a  bad  scheme  for  me  to  turn  bravely  and  run  away 
from  this  place, ' '  said  MacGregor,  truthfully ;  quite 
taken  aback  at  this  brisk  and  matter-of-fact  direct- 
ness. 

In  her  innermost  heart  Miss  Bennie  knew  certainly 
— without  reason,  as  women  know  these  things — that 
this  grim  old  man-at-arms  liked  her  very  well,  and 
came  as  a  friend. 

1 '  Blackmail  f  Oh  no — that  is  not  in  your  line.  And 
I  do  not  take  you  for  a  tell-tale,  either. ' '  She  looked 
him  over  slowly  and  attentively ;  a  cruel,  contempla- 
tive scrutiny,  which  brought  a  dull  glow  to  Mac- 
Gregor's  leathern  face,  even  before  she  spoke.  "I 


GOOD-BY  25 

see !"  She  dropped  the  reins  and  clapped  her  hands 
together.  "You  were  planning  to  take  Clay  Mun- 
dy's  place  with  me — is  that  if?" 

MacGregor  plucked  up  spirit  at  the  taunt.  "And 
that  was  an  unkind  speech  of  you,  Miss  Morgan. ' ' 

Her  eyes  danced  at  him.  ' '  There  is  but  one  thing 
left,  then.  You  have  come  to  plead  with  me  for  your 
friend — to  ask  me  to  spare  his  youth  and  innocence 
— to  demand  of  me,  as  the  phrase  goes,  if  my  inten- 
tions are  honorable.  Is  that  it?" 

"It  is  something  verra  like  that,  then,  if  I  must 
brave  your  displeasure  so  far  as  to  say  it.  And  it  is 
my  poor  opinion  that  so  much  was  verra  needful — 
though  it  was  in  my  mind  to  give  you  but  the  bare 
hint  that  your  secret  was  stumbled  upon.  For  what 
one  has  chanced  upon  this  day  another  may  chance 
upon  tomorrow.  And  there  was  something  else  be- 
sides, which  I  find  ill  to  put  to  words." 

The  girl  dropped  all  pretense.  ' '  I  think  you  meant 
kindly  by  me,  Mr.  MacGregor,  and  I  thank  you  for 
it.  And  you  must  consider  that  our  case  is  hard  in- 
deed. For  where  can  we  meet,  if  not  secretly?  Fif- 
ty miles  each  way,  every  ranch  is  lined  up  on  one 
side  or  the  other  of  this  feud.  One  word  to  my  fa- 
ther's ear  will  mean  bloodshed  and  death — and  thenr 
whoever  wins,  Bennie  Morgan  must  lose." 

"Yet  you  must  meet?"  said  MacGregor. 

She  met  his  eyes  bravely.  "Yet  we  must  meet!" 
She  said  it  proudly. 

"You  two  should  wed  out  of  hand  then,  and  put 
the  round  world  between  you  and  this  place,"  said 
MacGreeror. 

Misa  Bennie  sighed.    "That  is  what  I  tell  Clay* 


26  WEST  IS  .WEST 

It  is  the  only  way.  Soon  or  late,  if  we  live  here,  those 
two  would  clash,  my  father  and  my  husband.  If  we 
go  away,  father  may  get  over  it  in  time.  Clay  does 
not  want  to  go.  He  can  not  bear  to  have  it  said  that 
he  had  to  run  away  from  San  Quentin.  But  I  will 
never  marry,  him  till  he  is  ready  to  go. ' ' 

"He  is  a  fool  for  his  pains,  and  I  will  be  the  one 
who  will  tell  him  that  same ! ' '  declared  MacGregor, 
stoutly.  * '  Him  and  his  pride !  He  should  be  proud 
to  run  further  and  faster  than  ever  man  rode  before 
on  such  an  argument." 

"No — you  mustn't  say  one  word  to  him  about  me 
— please!  He  would  be  furious — and  he  is  a  dan- 
gerous man. ' ' 

"I  thank  ye  kindly  for  this  unexpected  care  of 
my  safety, ' '  said  MacGregor  humbly. 

"Oh  these  men!  Must  you  hear  that  you  are  so 
dangerous,  too?  There  would  be  trouble,  and  you 
know  it.  Clay's  as  cross  as  a  bear  with  a  sore  head, 
now — so  I  think  he  is  coming  to  my  way  of  thinking, 
and  doesn't  like  to  own  up.  Don't  you  say  anything 
to  him.  I'll  tell  him — not  that  you  have  seen  me,  but 
that  we  might  so  easily  be  seen — and  that  our  meet- 
ings must  be  few  and  far  between.  That  will  help 

to  make  up  his  mind,  too,  if  he  feels "     She 

checked  herself,  with  a  startled  shyness  in  her  sud- 
|  den  drooping  lids :  she  was  only  a  young  girl,  for  all 
her  frank  and  boyish  courage.  "I  will  warn  him, 
then.  And  yet  I  think  there  is  no  man  who  would  not 
think  twice  before  he  whispered  evil  of  Ben  Mor- 
gan's daughter  and" — she  held  her  head  proud,  she 
lifted  her  brave  eyes — "and  Clay  Mundy's  sweet- 
heart!" 


GOOD-BY  27 

MacGregor  checked  his  horse,  his  poor,  dull  face 
for  once  lit  up  and  uplifted ;  whatever  had  been  best 
of  him  in  all  his  wasted  and  misspent  life  stirred  at 
the  call  of  her  gallant  girlhood. 

"I  think  there  will  be  no  man  so  vile  as  to  think 
an  evil  thing  of  you,"  he  said.  "Miss  Morgan,  I 
was  a  puir  meddlin'  fool  to  come  here  on  such  an 
errand — and  yet  I  am  glad  that  I  came,  too.  And 
nowr  I  shall  go  back  and  trouble  you  nae  mair.  Yet 
there  is  one  thing,  too,  before  I  turn  back — and  I 
think  you  will  not  laugh." 

She  faced  him  where  he  stood:  so  that  he  carried 
with  him  a  memory  of  her  dazzling  ^youth  against 
a  dazzle  of  sun.  "I  shall  not  laugh." 

"It  is  better  than  fifty  years,  they  tell  me,  since 
last  the  San  Quentin  knew  any  such  rains  as  these," 
said  MacGregor  slowly.  ' l  This  place  has  the  ill  name 
of  a  desert.  Yet  all  this  day  the  air  has  been  heavy 
with  sweetness ;  all  day  long  I  have  ridden  stirrup- 
deep  in  strange  bright  flowers — and  no  man  knows 
the  name  of  them!  Fifty  years  they  have  slept  in 
the  blistered  brown  earth, the  seeds  of  these  nameless 
flowrers,  waiting  for  this  year  of  many  rains.  Las- 
sie, there  are  only  too  many  men,  like  me,  of  deserved 
and  earned  ill  name,  as  of  waste  places  where  no 
good  thing  can  flourish.  And  when  you  think  of  us, 
I  would  have  you  remember  how  this  bright,  belated 
spring-tide  came  to  San  Quentin.  I  would  have 
you  think  there  may  be  hidden  seeds  of  good  in  us 
yet — if  only  the  rains  might  come !  And  if  ever  you 
have  any  need  of  me — as  is  most  unlike — I  shall  be 
leal  friend  to  you,  I  shall  stick  at  nothing  in  your 


28  WEST  IS  WEST 

service.  It  is  so  that  I  would  have  you  think  of  old 
MacGregor.  Good-by ! ' ' 

' '  I  shall  not  forget, ' '  said  Bennie.  '  *  But  you  said 
there  was  something  else — something  hard  to  put 
into  words?" 

MacGregor  took  off  his  hat.  "I  think  there  will 
be  no  need  to  say  that — to  you,"  he  said. 

Once  more  her  eyes  searched  him  and  this  time 
he  did  not  flinch — so  high  he  held  her  now  in  his 
thought.  She  read  his  answering  look.  "Yes — since 
this  is  the  day  for  plain-speaking,  let  me  say  it  for 
you.  You  mean  .  .  .  that  it  is  not  only  whispering 
tongues  I  have  to  fear,  or  my  father's  anger — no, 
nor  black  death  itself — but  that  I  must  fear  myself 
most  of  all?  But,  Mr.  MacGregor — there  was  need 
to  say  that  indeed !  And  now  you  are  my  friend,  for 
I  have  trusted  you  very  greatly." 

1 '  Good-by,  then ! ' '  said  MacGregor  again.  He  bent 
over  her  hand. 

"Good-by!" 


SKULLSPEING 

MACGEEGOB  worked  out  the  "Whitewater  country 
and  moved  his  camp  to  Bear  Springs,  on  the  south- 
ern frontier  of  the  Mundy  range.  From  here  he  rode 
the  cedar  brakes  on  the  high  flanks  of  the  mountain, 
branding  late  calves.  This  work  was  most  effective- 
ly done  at  early  daybreak  and  at  sundown,  when  the 
wild  cattle  ventured  from  the  thickets  into  the  open 
glades  and  valleys. 

For  a  week,  Milt  Craig  had  ridden  with  him.  But 
Milt  had  made  his  pack  yesterday  and  moved  on  to 
the  Cienaga,  where  MacGregor  was  to  join  him  later, 
once  he  had  picked  up  the  few  calves  that  still  went 
imbranded  in  the  Bear  Spring  country.  So  today 
MacGregor  rode  alone. 

Ever  drifting  from  one  bunch  of  cattle  to  another 
and  then  on  to  another  clump  of  red  and  white  on  the 
next  hill-side,  as  the  day  wore  on  he  found  himself 
well  across  in  the  Wyandotte-Morgan  country ;  prow- 
ling in  the  tangle  of  hills,  south  of  the  Magdalena 
road,  which  was  the  accepted  dividing  line. 

As  the  sun  rode  on  to  afternoon,  the  prowler 
turned  back  and  made  his  way  to  Skullspring,  with  a 
thought  of  the  trickle  of  water  that  dripped  from  the 
high  cliffs  there;  and  as  he  came  clown  a  ridge  of 
backbone  from  the  upper  bench,  he  saw  a  little  curl 
of  smoke  rising  above  the  Skullspring  bluff. 

29 


30  WEST  IS  WEST 

MacGregor  remarked  upon  this  fact  to  Neighbor 
his  horse.  "We  are  in  a  hostile  country,  Neighbor," 
said  he.  "For  all  we  are  so  quiet  and  peaceful  these 
days,  it  will  be  the  part  of  prudence  to  have  a  look 
into  this  matter,  least  we  go  blundering  in  where  we 
arenae  much  wanted. ' '  He  tied  Neighbor  in  a  little 
hollow  of  the  hill,  and  went  down  with  infinite  pre- 
caution to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  above  Skullspring. 

Three  men  were  by  the  fire  below — all  strangers 
to  MacGregor.  That  gentleman  lay  flat  on  the  rock, 
peering  through  a  bush,  and  looked  them  over.  Clear- 
ly they  had  only  stopped  to  Skullspring  for  nooning. 
Two  were  cow-boys :  their  saddled  horses  stood  by. 
The  younger  of  these  two  stowed  a  little  grub-stack 
under  the  seat  of  a  light  buggy  that  stood  by  the  fire. 
The  third  person,  a  tall  man  of  about  thirty,  had  the 
look  of  a  town-man.  He  wore  a  black  suit  and  a 
"  hard  boiled  "hat. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  the  older  cowboy,  a  sullen-faced 
young  man.  "I'll  be  good  and  glad  a-plenty  when 
this  thing  is  over  with.  It's  a  shaky  business." 

"Don't  get  cold  feet,  Joe,"  advised  the  tall  man. 
"You're  getting  big  money,  mighty  big  money,  for 
a  small  risk. ' ' 

"I  notice  there's  none  of  these  San  Quentin  horn- 
bres  caring  for  any  of  it,"  grumbled  Joe,  sulkily. 

"Aw,  now,  be  reasonable,"  said  the  tall  man.  "He 
wouldn't  risk  letting  any  of  the  home  people  know. 
Too  shaky.  You  get  the  chance  just  because  you're 
a  stranger.  And  because  you're  a  stranger,  you  can 
get  away  without  being  noticed. ' ' 

Plainly,  here  was  mischief  afoot.    It  seemed  like 


SKULLSPRING  31 

to  MacGregor  that  Clay  Mundy  was  to  be  the  object 
of  it. 

The  younger  man  of  the  party  spoke  up.  "I'm 
not  only  goin'  to  get  away,  but  I'm  goin'  to  keep  on 
gettin'  away.  I'm  after  that  dough  all  right,  all 
right — but  lemme  tell  you,  Mr.  Hamerick,  this  coun- 
try'11  ba  too  hot  for  me  when  it's  over." 

MacGregor  barely  breathed.  It  appeared  that 
the  tall  man  was  Hamerick,  for  he  answered.  "I'm 
going  away  myself.  But  this  is  too  good  a  chance  for 
easy  money,  and  we  don't  want  to  make  a  hash  of 
it.  Keep  your  nerve.  Your  part  is  easy.  You  take 
the  first  right-hand  trail  and  drift  south  across  that 
saddle-back  pass  yonder,  so  you'll  get  there  before 
I  do.  You'll  find  the  Bent  ranch  right  under  the 
pass.  Nobody  there.  The  Bents  have  all  gone  to 
Magdalena  for  supplies.  Mrs.  Bent  is  going  to  So- 
corro  and  Bent '11  wait  for  her.  You're  to  make  your- 
selves at  home,  so  there  won't  be  anything  suspicious 
— new  men  working  there ;  sorry  the  Bents  are  gone, 
and  all  that."  He  kicked  out  the  dying  fire. 

' '  And  if  anyone  comes,  then  what  ? '  *  Joe  glowered 
at  him  with  the  question. 

* '  Then  you  are  strangers,  passing  by.  It  isn  't  like- 
ly that  any  one '11  come.  The  nearest  ranch  is  twen- 
ty-five miles.  But  if  any  one  should  come,  it's  all  off, 
for  today.  We  want  to  have  the  longest  start  we  can' 
get.  As  for  Mundy,  he  has  his  own  reasons.  You  '11 
ride  out  to  good  grass  and  make  camp.  If  we  see 
your  fire,  Mundy  and  me '11  turn  back.  We'll  pull  it 
off  tomorrow." 

Mundy!  MacGregor 's  heart  leaped.  Were  the 
men  to  entice  Mundy  to  the  Bent  ranch  and  murder 


32  WEST  IS  WEST 

him  there,  while  he  was  off  his  guard,  thinking  him- 
self among  his  friends?  MacGregor  drew  his  gun, 
minded  to  fall  upon  the  plotters  without  more  ado ; 
the  vantage  of  ground  more  than  made  up  for  ths 
odds  of  numbers.  But  he  put  back  his  gun.  They 
were  to  separate.  He  would  follow  the  man  Hamer- 
ick  and  deal  with  him  alone. 

' '  I  am  to  meet  Mundy  at  that  little  sugar-loaf  hill 
yonder,  four  or  five  miles  out  on  the  plain,  said  Ha- 
merick.  "I'll  be  late,  too — jawing  with  you  'fellows 
this  way.  Then  I'll  go  on  down  the  wagon-road  to 
Bent's  with  him.  The  play  is  that  I'm  supposed  to 
think  the  Bent  folks  are  at  home.  You  boys  '11  have 
plenty  of  time  to  get  settled  down." 

"If  we  don't  run  into  a  wasp's  nest,"  said  Joe 
sulkily. 

Hamerick  scowled.  "I'm  the  one  that's  taking 
the  biggest  risk,  with  this  damned  buggy — but  I've 
got  to  have  it,  to  play  the  part.  I'll  leave  it,  once  I 
get  safe  back  to  my  saddle. ' ' 

"We  three  want  to  ride  in  three  different  direc- 
tions," said  Joe.  "I  wish  it  was  over." 

Hamerick  gave  him  a  sinister  look.  "You  get 
no  money  till  I  get  a-straddle  of  a  horse  again — I'll 
tell  you  that  right  now,  my  laddie-buck  1  This  bug- 
gy's  too  easy  to  track  up,  if  anything  goes  wrong. 
You'd  like  it  first-rate  to  ride  off  scot-free  and  leave 
me  to  hold  the  sack. ' ' 

"I  won't,  eh!"  Joe  took  a  step  forward,  his  ugly 
face  blotched  with  crimson.  "Damn  you,  I've  took 
just  about  enough  from  you ! ' ' 

Here  the  younger  man  interposed.  "Oh,  you  both 
make  me  sick ! ' '  His  voice  was  cutting  and  cold,  ve- 


SKULLSPRING  33 

nomous  in  its  unforced  evenness.  "I  guess  I'll  do  a 
little  telling  now,  myself.  If  you  fellows  get  to  fight- 
ing, I'll  do  my  best  to  kill  both  of  you.  Got  that?" 

MacGregor  almost  hugged  himself  with  delight. 
"Oh,  if  they  once  get  to  shooting — if  they  only 
would!"  he  thought.  "It  would  be  a  strange  thing 
if  between  the  four  of  us  we  should  not  do  a  good 
day's  work  of  it!" 

"Now,  now,  Tait " 

"Don't  Tait  me!"  said  Tait,  in  the  same  deadly 
level.  "This  is  a  wise  bunch  for  a  ticklish  job,  ain't 
it?  I  know  that  no  one  but  a  dirty  skunk  would  be 
found  in  such  dirty  work — but  is  that  any  reason 
why  we  should  be  fools,  too?  Hamerick's  right,  Joe. 
"We  '11  string  along  with  him  till  he  gets  to  a  saddle — 
and  then  may  the  devil  take  the  hindmost!  Maybe 
we'll  find  a  saddle  at  the  Bent  Ranch.  If  we  do,  all 
the  better.  The  sooner  I  see  the  last  of  you  two,  the 
better  pleased  I'll  be.  For  you,  Hamerick— you  're 
engineerin*  this  thing,  but  when  it  comes  to  brass 
tacks  I'm  the  best  man,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  So 
if  you've  been  plannin'  any  nice  little  plans  to  hold 
out  part  of  the  price  on  me  and  Joe,  you  can  throw 
'em  over  for  excess  baggage,  right  here.  For  I'm 
to  put  it  up  to  the  paymaster,  right  to  your  face — 
you  won't  have  no  chance  to  fool  us.  Now  don't  give 
up  any  more  head  to  me !  You'll  stick  to  me  against 
Joe  till  you're  horse-back  again,  with  a  fair  chance 
for  a  getaway:  Joe '11  stick  to  me  till  we  get  a  fair 
diwy  on  the  money — and  if  either  of  you  don't  like 
it,  you  can  double  up  on  me  whenever  you  feel  lucky. 
I'm  ready  for  you  both  any  turn  in  the  road." 

The  challenge  went  unmet.    It  was  plain  that  Tait 


34  WEST  IS  WEST 

was  to  be  master.  MacGregor  waited  for  no  more. 
He  rolled  back  from  the  bare  rim  with  scarce  more 
noise  than  a  shadow  would  have  made.  He  crawled 
to  the  nearest  huddle  of  rocks  and  hid  away.  For 
a  little,  the  muffled  murmur  of  angry  voices  floated 
.to  him ;  then  came  the  sound  of  wheels  and  a  ringing 
of  shod  feet  on  rock ;  Tait  and  Joe  toiled  up  the  trail 
beyond  the  cliff-end,  paced  slowly  by,  black  against 
the  sky  line,  and  dipped  down  into  a  dark  hollow  that 
twisted  away  towards  Bent's  Pass. 

The  tingling  echoes  died;  and  then  MacGregor 
climbed  back  to  Neighbor.  The  game  was  in  his 
hands.  Keeping  to  the  ridge,  he  would  gain  a  long- 
mile  on  the  wagon  road,  deep  in  the  winding  pass. 
He  was  in  high  feather  as  he  followed  the  plunging 
slope ;  he  laughed  as  he  rode ;  his  eyes  drank  in  the 
brightness  of  the  day.  This  would  be  a  rare  jest  to 
tell  at  camp-fires ! 

"Now  I  wonder  who  can  be  at  the  bottom  of  this 
bonny  scheme?"  he  chuckled.  "It  doesnae  sound 
much  like  the  San  Quentin  folk,  who,  if  reports  be 
true,  are  accustomed  to  do  their  own  murders.  And 
if  the  man  Hamerick  tells  the  whole  story  what  then? 
That  will  be  for  Mundy  to  say.  Any  rate,  'tis  a  fine 
thing  for  Clay  Mundy  that  my  dry  throttle  drove 
me  to  Skullspring  just  at  this  time. ' ' 
i  "When  he  came  into  the  wagon-road  the  buggy  was 
just  before  him,  close  to  the  mouth  of  the  pass. 

The  stranger  had  been  going  at  a  brisk  gait,  but  at 
sight  of  the  horseman  he  slowed  to  a  prim  and  minc- 
ing little  trot. 

"A  fine  day,  sir,"  said  MacGregor  civilly,  as  he 
rode  alongside. 


SKULLSPRING  35 

' '  It  certainly  is, ' '  said  the  stranger.  He  was  plain- 
ly ill  at  ease  at  this  untimely  meeting,  but  tried  to 
carry  it  off.  "How  far  is  it  to  Old  Fort  Tularosa, 
can  you  tell  me  ? " 

MacGregor  squinted  across  the  plain.  "A  matter 
of  forty  miles,  I  should  say.  Goin'  across?" 

The  stranger  shook  his  head.  "Not  to-day.  I 
think  I  will  camp  here  for  the  night  and  have  a  look 
in  the  hills  for  a  deer.  You're  not  going  to  the  Fort 
yourself,  are  you?" 

MacGregor  grinned  cheerfully.  Knowing  what  he 
did,  he  knew  that  this  was  Hamerick's  device  to  try 
to  shake  off  his  unwelcome  company.  "Well,  no ;  not 
to-day.  The  fact  is,  sir" — he  bent  over  close  and 
sunk  his  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper — "the  fact 
is,  if  you  're  for  camping  here  the  night,  I  must  even 
camp  here,  too." 

"What!" 

"Just  that.  And  first  of  all,  do  you  remark  this 
little  gun  which  I  hold  here  in  my  hand?  Then  I  will 
ask  you  to  stop  and  to  get  out  upon  this  side,  holding 
to  your  lines  verra  carefully  lest  the  beastie  should 
run  away,  while  I  search  you  for  any  bit  weapons  of 
your  ain.  For  you  spoke  very  glibly  of  hunting  a 
deer — and  yet  I  do  not  see  any  rifle." 

Hamerick  groaned  as  he  climbed  out;  he  had  not 
thought  of  that.  "I  haven't  any  rifle.  My  revolver 
is  under  the  cushion — but  of  course  you  can  search 
me,  if  you  think  I've  got  another.  What  the  devil 
do  you  want,  anyway?  If  it's  money  you're  after, 
you'll  get  most  mighty  little." 

"All  in  good  time,  all  in  good  time,"  said  Mac- 
Gregor cheerfully.  He  went  through  Hamerick  for 


36  WEST  IS  WEST 

arms ;  finding  none,  he  went  through  the  buggy,  find- 
ing the  gun  under  the  cushion.  He  inspected  this 
carefully,  tried  it,  and  stuck  it  in  his  waistband. 

"Will  you  kindly  go  aside  some  few  steps,  sir?" 
said  MacGregor  politely.  "I  am  dry,  and  I  would 
have  a  good  swig  of  water  from  your  canteen,  but  I 
didnae  wish  to  set  myself  in  that  defenseless  posture 
of  holding  a  canteen  to  my  throat  whilst  ye  were  still 
armed." 

"You  see  I  have  no  money,  you  have  my  gun,  you 
have  your  drink — what  more  do  you  want  of  me!" 
spluttered  Hamerick.  "Let  me  go!  I  have  an  ap- 
pointment— I'll  be  late  now." 

"With  that  deer,  ye  are  meaning?"  MacGregor 
sat  cross-legged  on  the  ground  and  whittled  off  a 
pipeful  of  tobacco  with  loving  care.  He  puffed  awhile 
in  great  satisfaction,  watching  his  fuming  captive 
from  twinkling  eyes.  "Do  you  know,  sir,"  he  said 
at  last,  between  whiffs,  "that  in  my  puir  opeenion, 
if  you  knew  how  you  are  like  to  keep  that  appoint- 
ment of  yours,  you  would  be  little  made  up  with  it?" 

Hamerick  stammered.  He  had  no  idea  of  what  his 
captor  was  driving  at,  but  he  had  his  own  reasons 
for  great  uneasiness.  He  pulled  himself  together 
with  an  effort.  "I — I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 
I  see  now  that  you  are  a  robber,  as  I  first  thought. 
You  are  mistaking  me  for  some  other  man.  You 
can't  be  doing  yourself  any  possible  good  by  keeping 
me  here.  I  tell  you,  I  am  waited  for. ' ' 

'  Take  my  word  for  it,  sir — if  you  knew  my  way  of 
it,  you  would  be  less  impatient  for  that  tryst  of 
yours." 

''What— what  the  devil  do  you  mean?" 


SKULLSPRING  37 

"I  will  tell  you  then,  Mr.  Hamerick."  At  this  un- 
expected sound  of  his  own  name,  Hamerick  started 
visibly.  "If  Clay  Mundy  is  at  all  of  my  mind,  this  is 
what  we  shall  do:  We  will  set  you  on  Clay  Mundy 's 
horse  and  put  Clay  Mundy 's  hat  upon  your  head; 
and  we  two  will  get  in  your  bit  wagon  and  drive  you 
before  our  guns — just  at  dusk,  d'ye  mind? — to  the 
Bent  Banch;  and  there,  if  I  do  not  miss  my  guess, 
you  will  be  shot  to  death  by  hands  of  your  own  hir- 
ing!" 

Here  MacGregor,  gloating  on  that  pleasant  inward 
vision,  was  extremely  disconcerted  by  the  behavior 
of  his  prospective  victim.  So  far  from  being  ap- 
palled, Hamerick  was  black  with  rage ;  he  stamped, 
he  shook  his  fist,  he  struggled  for  speech  in  a  choking 
fury. 

"You  fool!  You  poor  spy!  Idiot!  Bungler!  Why 
couldn't  you  tell  me  you  were  Mundy 's  man?" 

' '  Steady,  there !  Are  you  meaning  to  face  it  out 
that  you  did  not  plan  to  murder  Clay  Mundy?  Be- 
cause we  are  going  on  now  to  see  him. ' ' 

Hamerick  gathered  up  the  lines  eagerly.  "Come 
on,  then,  damn  you — before  it  is  too  late ! ' '  There 
was  relief  and  triumph  in  his  voice — and  at  the  sound 
of  it  MacGregor  sickened  with  a  guess  at  the  whole 
dreadful  business;  the  bright  day  faded.  "Me,  kill 
Clay  Mundy?  Why,  you  poor,  pitiful  bungler,  Clay 
Mundy  brought  me  here  to  play  preacher  for  him ! ' ' 

MacGregor  drew  back.  His  face  flamed;  his  eyes 
were  terrible.  He  jerked  out  Hamerick 's  gun  and 
threw  it  at  Hamerick 's  feet.  There  was  a  dreadful 
break  in  his  voice.  "Protect  yourself!"  he  said. 

But  Hamerick  shrank  back,  white-lipped,  cringing. 


38  WEST  IS  WEST 

1  'I  won't!    I  won't  touch  it!" 

"Cur!" 

' '  Oh,  don 't  kill  me,  don 't  murder  me ! "  Hamerick 
was  wringing  his  hands ;  he  was  almost  screaming. 

MacGregor  turned  shamed  eyes  away.  He  took 
up  Hamerick's  gun.  "Strip  the  harness  from  that 
horse  then,  take  the  bridle  and  ride !  And  be  quick, 
lest  I  think  better  of  it.  Go  back  the  way  you  came, 
and  keep  on  going !  For  I  shall  tell  your  name  and 
errand,  and  there  is  no  man  of  Morgan's  men  but 
will  kill  you  at  kirk  or  gallows-foot. ' ' 

He  watched  in  silence  as  Hamerick  fled.  Then  he 
rode  down  the  pass,  sick-hearted,  brooding,  grieving. 
He  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  pass :  at  the  plain's  edge 
he  saw  a  horseman,  near  by,  coming  swiftly.  It  was 
Clay  Mundy. 


VI 

NO  DWELLING  MOBE  ON  SEA  OB  SHOEE 

MACGEEGOB  slowed  up.  The  flush  of  burning  wrath 
had  died  away ;  his  face  was  set  to  a  heavy,  impassive 
mask.  He  thrust  Hamerick's  gun  between  his  left 
knee  and  stirrup-leather  and  gripped  there.  He  drew 
rein  so  Mundy  should  come  to  his  right  side;  and 
again,  as  at  their  first  meeting,  he  laid  both  his  hands 
on  the  saddle  horn  as  he  halted. 

Clay  Mundy 's  face  was  dark  with  suspicion. 

"Have  you  seen  a  fool  in  a  buggy?"  he  demanded. 

"I  see  a  fool  on  a  horse!"  responded  MacGregor 
calmly.  "For  the  person  you  seek,  I  have  put  such 
a  word  in  his  ear  that  he  will  never  stop  this  side  of 
tidewater.  "What  devil 's  work  is  this,  Clay  Mundy  ? ' ' 

' '  You  damned  meddler !  Are  you  a  coward  as  well 
as  meddler,  that  you  dare  not  move  your  hands?" 

"Put  up  your  foolish  gun,  man — you  cannae  fricht 
me  with  it.  The  thing  is  done  and  shooting  will  never 
undo  it.  There  will  be  no  mock-marriage  this  day, 
nor  ony  day — and  now  shoot,  if  you  will,  and  damned 
to  you !  Man  I  Have  ye  gone  clean  daft?  Or  did  ye 
wish  to  proclaim  it  that  ye  were  no  match  for  the 
Morgans  in  war?  And  did  ye  think  to  live  the  week 
out?  That  had  been  a  chance  had  you  married  her 
indeed,  with  bell  and  book — as  whaur  could  ye  find 
better  mate?  But  after  such  black  treachery  as  ye 

39 


40  WEST  IS  WEST 

meant Man,  ye  are  not  in  your  right  mind,  the 

devil  is  at  your  earl" 

"It  is  hard  to  kill  a  man  who  will  not  defend  him- 
self," said  Mundy  thickly.  "I  spared  your  life  once 
because  you  amused  me " 

"And  because  it  was  a  verra  judeecious  thing, 
too — and  you  are  well  knowing  to  that  same.  Think 
ye  I  value  my  life  owre  high,  or  that  I  fear  ye  at  all, 
that  I  come  seeking  you?  Take  shame  to  yourself, 
man !  Have  a  better  thought  of  it  yet !  Say  you  will 
marry  the  lassie  before  my  eyes,  and  I  will  go  on  that 
errand ;  or  turn  you  back  and  I  will  go  with  her  back 
to  the^  house  of  the  Morgans — and  for  her  sake,  I  will 
keep  your  shame  to  mysel'.  Or,  if  it  likes  you  better, 
you  may  even  fall  to  the  shooting." 

"Fool!"  said  Mundy.  "I  can  kill  you  before  you 
can  touch  your  gun." 

"It  is  what  I  doubt,"  said  MacGregor.  "For  me 
there  is  but  the  clean  stab  of  death — but  you  must 
leave  behind  the  name  of  a  false  traitor  to  be  a  his- 
sing and  a  byword  in  the  mouths  of  men. ' ' 

"I  will  say  this  much,  that  I  was  wrong  to  call  you 
coward, ' '  said  Mundy,  in  a  changed  voice.  ' '  You  are 
a  bold  and  stubborn  man,  and  I  think  there  is  a 
chance  that  you  might  get  your  gun — yes,  and  shoot 
straight,  too.  I  will  not  marry  the  girl — nor  yet  will 
I  harm  her.  But  I  will  not  be  driven  further.  I 
am  not  willing  to  skulk  away  while  you  tell  her  your 
way  of  the  story.  That  would  be  too  sorry  a  part.  I 
will  go  on  alone,  and  tell  her,  and  send  her  home." 

"You  will  say  your  man  fled  before  the  Morgans, 
or  was  taken  by  them,  or  some  such  lies,  and  lure 
her  on  to  her  ruin,"  said  MacGregor. 


ON  SEA  OR  SHORE  41 

"I  will  give  you  the  minute  to  turn  back." 

"It  is  what  I  will  never  do ! " 

"Then  you  will  die  here,"  said  Mundy. 

"Think  of  me  as  one  dead  an  hour  gone,"  said 
MacGregor  steadily.  "My  life  is  long  since  forfeit 
to  every  law  of  God  or  man.  I  am  beyond  the  ques- 
tion. Think  rather  of  yourself.  You  have  the  plain 
choice  before  you — a  bonny  wife  to  cherish,  and 
bairns  to  your  knee — life  and  love,  peace  and  just 
dealing  and  quiet  days — or  at  the  other  hand  but 
dusty  death  and  black  shame  to  the  back  of  that!" 

As  a  snake  strikes,  Mundy 's  hand  shot  out:  he 
jerked  MacGregor 's  gun  from  the  scabbard  and 
threw  it  behind  him. 

"You  prating  old  windbag!  How  about  it  now? 
I'll  be  driven  by  no  man  on  earth,  much  less  by  a 
wordy  old  bluffer  like  you." 

"You  used  other  speech  but  now.  You  are  false  in 
war  as  in  love.  But  I  carenae  for  hard  words,  so  you 
deal  justly  with  the  lassie.  Wed  her  to  me  with 
witness,  or  let  her  go  free." 

"Talk  to  the  wind!"  said  Mundy. 

"For  the  last  time,  Mundy,  give  it  up!  In  the 
name  of  God ! ' ' 

"Get  off  that  horse  and  drag  it!  I  give  you  your 
life — you're  not  worth  my  killing.  Never  be  seen  on 
the  San  Quentin  again ! '  * 

"Mundy " 

4 '  Get  off,  I  say ! ' '  Mundy  spurred  close,  his  cocked 
gun  swung  shoulder  high. 

"Aweel,"  said  MacGregor.  He  began  to  slide  off 
slowly,  his  right  hand  on  the  saddle  horn;  his  left 
hand  went  to  the  gun  at  his  left  knee;  he  thrust 


42  WEST  IS  WEST 

it  up  under  Neighbor's  neck  and  fired — once, 
twice,  again !  Crash  of  flames,  roaring  of  gun  shots : 
he  was  on  his  back,  Neighbor's  feet  were  in  his  ribs ; 
he  fired  once  more,  from  under  the  trampling  feet. 

Breathless,  crushed,  he  struggled  to  his  knees,  the 
blood  pumping  from  two  bullet-holes  in  his  great 
body.  A  yard  away,  Clay  Mundy  lay  on  his  face, 
crumpled  and  still,  clutching  a  smoking  gun. 

"I  didnae  touch  his  face,"  said  MacGregor.  He 
threw  both  guns  behind  him ;  he  turned  Mundy  over 
and  opened  his  shirt.  One  wound  was  in  his  breast, 
close  beside  his  heart;  another  was  through  the 
heart.  MacGregor  looked  down  upon  him. 

'  *  The  puir,  mad,  misguided  lad ! "  he  said  between 
painwrung  lips.  ' '  Surely  he  has  gone  horn-mad  with 
hate  and  wrong  and  revenge." 

He  covered  the  dead  man 's  face,  and  straightened 
the  stiffening  arms,  and  sat  beside  him:  he  looked 
at  the  low  sun,  the  splendor  of  the  western  ranges ; 
he  held  his  hand  to  his  own  breast  to  stay  the  jets  o." 
pulsing  blood. 

"And  the  puir  lassie — she  will  hear  this  shameful 
tale  of  him !  Had  I  looked  forward  and  killed  yonder 
knave  Hamerick,  she  had  blamed  none  but  me.  'Twas 
ill  done  .  .  .  Ay,  but  she's  young  still.  She  will  have 
a  cave  and  a  fire  of  her  own  yet. ' ' 

There  was  silence  a  little  space,  and  his  hand" 
slipped.    Then  he  opened  his  dulling  eyes : 

"Hullo,  Central!  .  .  .  Give  me  Body,  please.  .  .  . 
Hullo,  Body!  Hullo!  That  you,  Body?  .  .  .  Mac- 
Gregor's  Soul,  speaking.  I  am  going  away.  Good 
luck  to  you — good-by! ...  I  don't  know  where." 


ONCE  UPON  A  TIME 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  LONG  SHIFT 

ECHOES  of  the  explosion  yet  volleyed  from  cliff  to 
cliff;  a  thin  cloud  of  smoke  and  dust  hung  heavily 
over  the  shaft  mouth.  They  huddled  together  on  the 
dump — the  four  men  of  the  night  shift,  peacefully 
asleep  a  moment  since ;  the  young  manager,  still  hold- 
ing a  pen  in  his  nerveless  fingers ;  the  blacksmith,  the 
cook,  and  the  Mexican  water-carrier — all  that  were 
left  of  the  Argonauts. 

No  one  spoke ;  there  was  no  need.  The  dynamite, 
stored  in  the  eighty-foot  cross-cut,  had  exploded ;  no 
one  knew  how  or  why.  The  shaft  walls  had  heaved 
and  crushed  together;  the  dump  had  fallen  in  for 
yards ;  the  very  hillside  had  slipped  and  closed  over 
the  spot  where  the  shaft  of  the  Golden  Fleece  had 
been.  The  eight  men  of  the  day-shift  were  buried 
alive.  Working  in  the  further  stopes  and  cross-cuts 
of  the  deeper  levels,  they  could  hardly  have  been 
killed  outright.  Remained  for  them  the  long,  slow 
agony  of  suffocation — or  the  mercy  of  the  fire.  For 
there  was  scarcely  room  to  hope  that  the  explosion 
had  not  fired  the  timber  work. 

They  knew  this,  these  silent  men  at  the  pit  mouth ; 
knew  there  was  no  chance  that  they  could  clear  away 
the  shaft  in  time — not  if  they  were  eighty  instead  of 
eight.  To  tear  away  that  tangle  of  shattered  rock 

43 


44  WEST  IS  WEST 

•was  a  matter  of  weeks ;  the  air  supply  in  the  living 
grave  beneath  was  a  matter  of  days  or  hours.  They 
l^new,  too,  that  their  comrades  were  even  then 
speaking  hopefully  of  "the  boys";  that  to  tlie  last 
the  prisoners  would  hold  unfaltering  trust — in  them ! 
And  one  fell  on  his  face  and  cried  on  the  name  of  God 
— Van  Atta,  manager  and  half  owner. 

"No  hope,  no  hope,  no  hope!"  he  sobbed.  "We 
can't  save  'em.  Keough  wanted  me  to  put  in  a  ven- 
tilator shaft.  I  wouldn't — and  now  I  have  murdered 
them !  They  will  wait  for  us — wait — wait — 0  God ! 
God!  God!" 

He  was  young,  inexperienced,  half -invalid  yet,  now 
brought  for  the  first  time  face  to  face  with  sudden 
and  violent  death :  small  wonder  if  he  broke  down  for 
a  moment.  A  moment  only — he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
his  face  new-lighted  with  hope  and  energy. 

'  *  The  old  Showdown  tunnel !  They  will  remember 
that — if  they  are  alive  they  will  expect  us  to  break 
through  from  there !  Keough  intended  to  connect  it 
with  Gallery  Four  on  the  last  level,  to  save  hoisting. 
I  surveyed  it  then — I  know  the  bearings — we  can  tear 
out  some  kind  of  a  hole. — Come  on,  men!" 

They  clambered  down  the  steep,  boulder-strewn 
mountainside,  bearing  drills,  hammers,  "spoons," 
picks,  shovels,  powder,  fuse,  caps,  water,  candles — 
all  needful  to  begin  work. 

Near  the  face,  far  back  in  the  winding  tunnel,  Van 
Atta  drove  a  gad  into  the  hanging  wall.  ' '  Start  from 
here.  Keep  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  from  the 
course  of  the  tunnel,  and  a  twenty  degree  dip.  It  is 
twenty-four  to  twenty-five  feet  in,  and  seven  feet 
below  us." 


THE  LONG  SHIFT  45 

"Go!"  said  Price,  holding  the  starter  in  place. 
White  began  another  hole  above  him. 

Van  Atta  raised  his  voice  to  be  heard  above  the 
beating  hammers.  "  Jones  will  sharpen  steel  now 
and  help  you  later.  The  work  will  fall  on  you  five ; 
Charlie  and  I  are  out  of  it.  The  Mexican  boy  could 
do  more  work  than  either  of  us.  We  three  will  rig 
up  some  sort  of  makeshift  ventilator,  move  the  forge 
and  cook  outfit  down,  muck  away  for  you,  cook  your 
meals.  Save"  yourselves  for  the  drills.  Tell  us  what 
you  need,  and  we  will  get  it.  Jones  will  work  our  steel 
bars  up  into  the  longest  possible  set  of  drills.  We'll 
shoot  out  till  the  longest  drill  will  reach,  and  then 
drive  a  hole  right  through.  We  can  pump  in  fresh 
air  then,  pour  down  water  and  coffee  and  soup,  and 
break  out  the  balance  afterwards.  If  we  only  had 
more  men!  Had  we  better  send  some  one  to  San 
Clemente  for  help  ?  Or  north  to  the  ranches  by  Red 
Mesa?" 

"Red  Mesa  is  closer,  but  there  may  be  no  one 
there.  It's  forty-five  mile  to  San  Clemente,"  said 
Lone  Miller.  "We  can't  spare  a  man.  By  the  time 
they  got  back,  it  might  be  too  late — and  the  man's 
work  here  might  make  all  the  difference. ' '  He  swung 
his  hammer  savagely.  "But  there's  two  other  men 
besides  ourselves  on  Malibu  Knob.  Doc  Hughes  is 
only  five  miles  from  here,"  he  blurted  out  at  last. 
"He  is  at  the  Nymyer  copper  claim  and  another 
Welshman  with  him.  We  can  do  it  with  them.  They 
just  got  out  from  town.  I  saw  them  when  I  was  out 
hunting  yesterday  afternoon.  Doc  is  a  dirty  mutt — 
a  lowdown  camp  robber.  I'll  get  him  yet,  the  damn 
scoundrel!  .  .  .  Not  now.  Maybe  he'll  come,"  he 


I 


46  WEST  IS  WEST 

sneered.  "Tell  him  it's  our  only  chance  for  help- 
that  we  can't  break  through  in  time.  Tell  him  I  said 
so — me,  Lone  Miller — that  I  asked  him  to  come." 

" That's  a  whisky-bloat 's  job,"  said  Charlie,  the 
cook.  "Keep  your  men  for  men's  work."  He  was 
gone. 

"The  other  monkey  is  good,  too,"  said  Miller. 
' '  Not  so  good  as  Caradoc  Hughes,  but  a  miner.  Trust 
Cousin  Jock  for  that." 

Two  of  the  night-shift  were  Welshmen.  "Goes- 
long,  my  son, ' '  said  one,  well  pleased. 

Swiftly  the  ;hammers  fell,  square  and  true ;  slip- 
ping so  easily  that  the  work  seemed  as  effortless  as 
driving  tacks.  But  back  and  shoulders  were  in  each 
blow — the  tough  ash  handles  bent,  the  drills  sank 
steadily  into  the  rock.  No  ordinary  toil — their  best, 
and  better  than  their  best. 

Without,  the  blacksmith  beat  a  brave  tattoo  on  the 
glowing  steel,  sharpening  set  after  set  of  drills.  The 
starters  were  a  foot  long,  each  succeeding  drill  five 
or  six  inches  longer  than  the  preceding  one,  and 
slightly  narrower  at  the  bit,  so  that  it  would  follow 
in  the  hole.  Seven  or  eight  drills  made  a  set,  the  lon- 
gest four  or  five  feet.  Carefully  he  wrought,  and 
watched  with  anxious  eye  as  he  plunged  the  hissing 
points  into  the  water  and,  holding  them  up,  saw  the 
temper  draw  steel-blue  and  white-specked  to  the 
edge. 

Meantime  the  Mexican  lad  and  the  manager 
worked  on  their  improvised  ventilating  rig — lengths 
of  pipe  laid  down  the  tunnel,  screwed  together,  and 
connected  with  an  extra  bellows  set  up  on  the  dump. 
Before  they  were  done,  the  first  shots  were  fired. 


THE  LONG  SHIFT  47 

Leaving  Clovis  to  finish  tightening  up  the  joints,  Van 
Atta  went  into  the  tunnel.  The  candles  smoldered 
faintly  through  the  sickly  smoke.  White  worked  on 
a  new  hole.  Williams,  on  his  hands  and  knees  be- 
tween striker  and  holder,  threw  the  broken  rock  to 
Price,  who  carried  it  farther  back. 

11  That's  it — that's  good!"  said  Van,  screwing  a 
length  of  hose  on  his  pipe-line  to  carry  the  fresh  air 
quite  to  the  front.  "Whew!  This  powder  is  rank! 
I'll  have  fresh  air  pumped  down  in  a  jiffy.  You  two 
boys  go  back  to  the  air  till  it's  your  time  to  drill. 
I'll  get  a  wheel-barrow  and  muck  away.  Don't  make 
the  mistake  of  cutting  the  drift  so  small  you  can't 
work  to  advantage — and  don't  waste  time  pounding 
dull  steel." 

From  this  time  on  Clovis  or  Van  pumped  in  fresh 
air  steadily.  Van,  at  the  bellows,  in  the  gathering 
dusk,  glimpsed  two  speeding  forms  black  against  the 
sky-line.  * '  Oh,  good  work !  Good  work,  Cooky ! "  he 
cried  exultingly.  "Ten  miles,  and  over  that  trail! 
He  must  have  ran  all  the  way  over ! ' ' 

A  shout  went  up  in  the  tunnel  when  Van  told»his 
news.  ' '  I  was  afraid  something  would  happen, ' '  said 
Miller.  "They  might  have  been  away — hunting, 
maybe.  Sundown's  the  best  time  for  deer." 

A  burly  giant  came  puffing  down  the  tunnel :  Cara- 
doc  Hughes,  huge,  brutal,  broad-chested,  red-faced, 
red-haired,  bull-necked,  thick-lipped.  He  bellowed 
strange  greetings  and  shouldered  the  striker  aside. 
"Le's  see,  moi  son!  Taper  off  a  bit!" 

"Taake  foive,"  said  Davis,  following  more  quietly, 
as  he  took  the  drill  from  the  holder.  Caradoc  grin- 
ned villainously  at  Miller.  *  *  Hallo !  Hast  thy  gun, 


48  WEST  IS  WEST 

laql?    Spaare  moi  life  a  bit,  will  'ee?    Have  no  time 
for  scrappin'  now." 

"You're  more  useful  alive,  Taffy — just  now,"  re- 
plied Miller,  without  looking  up.  Doc,  chuckling 
coarsely,  polished  the  drill-head  with  wicked,  smash- 
ing blows.  "Whoosh!"  he  grunted,  expelling  his 
breath  violently  at  each  stroke,  as  he  brought  the 
hammer  down  with  all  his  bulk  behind  it.  * '  Whoosh ! ' ' 

Far  behind,  the  cook  limped  painfully  in.  Later 
lie  brought  steaming  coffee  and  great  Dutch  ovens 
full  of  beef  and  beans.  The  bellows  worked  unceas- 
ingly, the  wheelbarrow  carried  the  broken  rock  away. 
At  the  front  they  paired  off,  changing  at  brief  in- 
tervals, holding  and  striking  alternately.  They 
worked.  .  .  .  But  the  shots  were  frequent,  the 
charges  heavy;  the  giant-powder  fumes — sluggish, 
stupefying,  poisonous — hung  in  the  air  in  spite  of 
the  ventilator,  dragged  on  the  men's  energies,  dulled 
the  onset.  Their  heads  ached  relentlessly.  As  each 
relay  came  off,  they  hurried  out  to  the  blessed  pure 
air;  and,  thinking  of  the  prisoners,  entombed  and 
suffocating,  stumbled  back  again  to  strike  with  all 
their  manhood  behind  each  blow. 

Van,  when  they  went  out  in  the  air,  made  them 
wrap  up  warmly,  lest  their  tortured  muscles  should 
stiffen.  Van  sent  Charlie  to  them  with  food  and  hot . 
coffee.  Van  brought  water.  He  was  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  pumping  at  the  bellows,  mucking  away, 
keeping  the  drift  true.  The  little  man  of  brains  an- 
ticipated every  need ;  brought  powder  or  fuse  already 
cut  and  capped ;  saving  a  minute  here,  half  a  minute 
there.  He  loaded  and  fired  the  holes,  sparing  his  men. 
so  much  of  the  labor  and  powder  smoke.  He  praised 


THE  LONG  SHIFT  49 

them,  cheered  them  on,  kept  their  hearts  up,  voiced 
their  pride ;  till  each  man  nerved  himself  to  utmost 
effort,  thrilled  to  know  that  solid  rock  and  stubborn 
granite  were  less  enduring  than  his  own  unchanging 
will. 

And,  when  he  crept  back  to  Charlie  and  Clovis,  it 
was  Van  who  despised  himself,  whose  heartsick 
thought  was  that  his  feeble  body  unfitted  him  to  do 
a  man's  work  on  the  firing-line.  ...  So  the  night 
wore  on;  and  ever  the  hammers  rang,  the  drills  bit 
deep ;  slowly,  steadily,  inch  by  inch,  foot  by  foot,  they 
tore  the  prison  wall  away. 

As  he  rested,  Caradoc  goaded  his  disdainful  ene- 
my with  taunt  and  slur — " Little  pot,  soon  hot" — 
and  such  ancestral  wit.  For  a  long  time  Miller  made 
no  answer  to  these  rude  sallies,  but  the  insults  fes- 
tered. "You  know  the  old  saw,  Doc,'*  he  said  at 
last,  with  ominous  quiet.  * l  The  Almighty  made  some 
men  big  and  some  small,  but  Colonel  Colt  evened 
things  up.  Best  think  it  over. " 

After  each  shot  the  crews  went  to  the  drilling,  leav- 
ing the  muckers  to  work  out  with  pick  and  gad,  the 
rock  loosened  by  previous  shots,  straightening  the 
uneven  walls  and  roof  as  best  they  could.  Their  des- 
perate haste  invited  disaster.  It  came  before  dawn. 
White  was  holding  for  Williams,  when  a  heavy 
rock  jarred  from  the  roof  and  fell  on  the  striker's 
shoulder.  The  hammer,  glancing  from  the  drill  head, 
crushed  the  holder's  hand  to  mangled  flesh.  The 
work  stopped.  White  rose  unsteadily.  "Keep  a- 
hummin' — keep  the  hammers  going,"  he  said,  as  he 
started  out,  dizzy  and  sick.  Williams,  in  scarce  less 
distress  for  his  unlucky  blow,  followed  him. 


5o  WEST  IS  WEST 

"Bide  a  bit!"  bellowed  Caradoc.  "Harken!  I 
hear  summat!  God's  love  hear  that!  There's  salve 
for  thy  hurrt,  lad!  They're  alive,  they're  alive,  I 
tell  'ee !  Happen  the  heat's  drivin'  'em  down  bottom 
by  way  o  *  the  winze ! ' ' 

Tap-tap-tap !  Muffled  and  dull  and  hollow  it  soun- 
ded from  the  rock  before  them.  Tap-tap-tap !  Doc 
snatched  his  hammer  and  thundered  on  the  drill 
head.  "They're  livinM"  he  roared.  "Seven  feet 
an'  more  we've  made  this  night,  and  fair  gettin'  lim- 
bered up  a  bit ! " 

"I'll  eat  a  bite  and  go  to  town  after  help,"  said 
"White,  as  Van  bandaged  his  hand.  "I'm  no  good 
here,  but  I  can  walk.  I  tell  you  these  men  are  fagged. 
I  ought  to  know.  If  you  get  close  enough  to  drill  a 
hole  through,  'twill  be  all.  The  strain  will  be  over, 
and  every  mother's  son '11  drop  in  his  tracks.  I'll 
send  enough  men  from  town  to  tear  out  the  last  ten 
feet  by  the  roots." 

"You  can't,  man.  You're  tired  out  and  suffering. 
There  is  at  least  one  bone  broken  in  your  hand. 
You'll  give  out." 

"I — I  wasn't  aiming  to  walk  on  my  hands,  you 
know.  Eun  along  now.  I'm  twenty-one  past,  and  it 
is  my  job  to  walk  across  Malibu  Flat  this  day.  If 
you  look  across  the  desert  to  San  Clemente  about 
dark,  there'll  be  a  big  light  on  Ghost  Mountain  to  let 
you  know  I  made  it.  So  long!"  He  filled  a  canteen 
and  went  to  do  his  part :  not  the  least  where  each  did 
well. 

The  long  weary  day  dragged  as  they  toiled  at  their 
endless  task.  The  Mexican  lad  loaded  his  patient 
burros  with  kegs  and  went  to  the  spring  for  water. 


THE  LONG  SHIFT  51 

Before  noon  Van  Atta  was  on  the  verge  of  a  collapse. 
The  others  forced  him  to  quit  his  part  in  the  muck- 
ing. "Else  will  us  bind  'ee  handfast,"  observed 
Caradoc.  "Happen  us '11  need  thy  brains  yet,  lad. 
Will  be  there  with  t'  brawn — do  'ee  keep  care  o'  the 
only  head  here  that's  worth  owt."  So  Van,  cursing 
and  shamed,  cleaned  out  the  holes  when  "mud"  clog- 
ged them,  picked  out  the  followers,  loaded  and  fired 
the  holes,  and  sometimes  took  a  short  spell  at  pump- 
ing; while  Charlie  and  Clovis  stacked  up  no  more 
rock,  for  lack  of  time,  but  wheeled  it  far  down  the 
tunnel  and  dumped  it. 

The  incessant  clangor  of  steel  on  ringing  steel — 
hammer  and  hold,  hold  and  hammer — mud!  Clean 
— change  drills,  hammer !  Load,  fire — clean  away — 
room  for  the  hammers !  The  air  was  hot,  foul  and 
intolerable,  from  candles,  steaming  breath  and  drip- 
ping bodies,  dust  and  powder  fumes.  Hour  after  hour 
they  drove  home  the  assault ;  stripped  to  the  waist, 
soaked  and  streaked  with  sweat  and  dust;  with  fin- 
gers cramped  from  gripping  on  hammer  and  drill; 
with  finger-joints  that  cracked  and  bled,  wrists 
bruised  and  swollen  from  jarring  blows.  The  rough 
and  calloused  hands  were  blistering  now ;  back,  mus- 
cles and  joints  strained  and  sore;  worse  than  all, 
powder  headache  throbbed  at  their  temples  with  tor- 
ture intolerable.  .  .  .  But  the  brave  music  of  clashing 
steel  rang  steadily,  clear,  unfaltering,  where  flesh 
and  blood  flung  itself  at  the  everlasting  hill. 

A  muffled  roar  came  from  the  heart  of  the  rock. 
The  prisoners  were  working  toward  them. 

"That's  bad,"  said  Van.  "They'll  make  the  air 
worse  with  every  shot.  They  can't  hit  our  drift 


52  WEST  IS  WEST 

short  of  a  miracle.    They  are  lessening  their  chan- 
ces." 

' « I  don  »t  rightly  know  that,  "said  Caradoc.  ; '  Was 
on  the  last  shift  in  Gallery  Foar,  myself.  Was  a 
horse  there,  I  moind,  hard  as  the  Gaates  o'  Hell. 
Happen  they'll  smash  that  up  and  save  us  mony 
the  weary  blow. ' ' 

The  terrible  strain  began  to  tell.  But  Caradoc 
and  his  indomitable  foe  kept  the  heartbreaking  pace. 
Price  was  deadly  sick,  bleeding  from  nose  and 
mouth;  Williams'  hurt  shoulder  was  stiffened  until 
striking  was  out  of  the  question  for  him.  So  these 
two  held.  The  others  kept  on  pluckily,  but  their 
strength  was  leaving  them.  Inexorable  Nature  was 
extorting  punishment  for  her  outraged  laws :  the 
end  was  near,  of  men  or  task.  The  shifts  were  timed 
no  longer.  Each  man  kept  up  the  savage  hammering 
till  he  felt  his  strength  fail ;  and  as  he  stepped  back, 
breathless,  a  silent  spectre  behind  rose  up  and  took 
his  place. 

From  the  steel  bars  Jones  fashioned  a  set  of  twen- 
ty-four drills,  with  all  his  cunning  and  loving  care  on 
every  point;  a  hair's  breadth  difference  between  the 
bits,  the  longest  drill  twelve  feet,  its  bit  rarely  wider 
than  the  octagonal  steel ;  he  welded  rods  of  iron  for 
spoons  of  suitable  lengths.  They  made  the  last  few 
feet  of  the  drift  wider  and  higher  than  the  rest,  to 
have  ample  room  for  double  drilling.  At  sundown 
they  set  off  the  last  shots.  They  had  torn  out  four- 
teen feet ;  they  must  drill  a  hole  through  the  eleven- 
foot  wall  that  remained.  They  had  scarcely  started 
when  Clovis  came,  pouring  out  a  torrent  of  voluble 
Spanish.  A  fire  blazed  on  Ghost  Mountain. 


THE  LONG  SHIFT  53 

One  thing  was  left  to  fear.  Thrice  they  had  heard 
the  muffled  shots  from  within.  Since  then  there  had 
been  no  sign.  Were  the  prisoners  dead,  or  had  they 
seen  the  unwisdom  of  further  exhaustion  of  the  air? 

1  'They '11  be  too  far  gone  to  work,  hours  before 
they  actually  suffocate,"  said  Van.  "We'll  be  in 
time,  please  God!" 

They  called  up  every  reserve  that  pride  or  hope 
or  fear  could  bring.  Two  men  struck  at  once,  the 
hammers  following  each  other  so  swiftly  that  it 
seemed  impossible  for  the  holder  to  turn  the  drill 
between  blows. 

"Scant  mercy  on  they  beasties  this  night,"  said 
Price.  "They'll  coom  to  t 'hill-foot  in  foar  hours. 
Near  two  they'll  need  to  win  oop  t'hill — 'tis  mortal 
steep,  an'  they  beasties '11  jaded  sore.  Will  be  in 
season  for  t'  Graveyard  shift." 

"Not  so — coom  midnight  will  be  full  soon.  'Tis 
a  sandy  desert  and  a  weary  hill  by  night. ' ' 

"Be't  midnight,  then.  Williams,  moi  son,  canst 
hold  t  'drill  alone  ?  I  be  fair  rested  oop  now,  and  can 
pound  a  bit.  Us '11  burn  no  more  powder,  an'  fair 
will  clear  oop  ere  long." 

"Good  for  you,  Cousin  Jock!"  said  Miller  hearti- 
ly. By  tacit  consent  Miller  and  Caradoc  worked  to- 
gether. It  depended  on  them  —  and  they  knew  it. 
Shoulder  to  shoulder,  blow  for  blow,  they  set  their 
faces  grimly  to  such  work  as  few  are  called  to  do. 

Neither  Charlie  nor  Van  Atta  could  be  trusted  to 
hold — for  them  to  strike  would  be  simply  loss  of  time. 
The  hole  must  be  driven  absolutely  true,  or  the  drill 
would  bind,  and  they  would  have  to  begin  again. 
At  intervals  one  of  the  others  would  hold,  giving 


54  WEST  IS 

Williams  a  few  minutes'  respite"  to"'straighten  his 
cramped  and  stiffened  fingers.  Van  Atta  cleaned  the 
hole  and  called  the  depth.  Ten  inches ;  twenty — thir- 
ty— fifty — ' '  Sixty  inches ! "  he  called  exultingly. ' '  An 
inch  every  two  minutes,  after  all  these  hours!  The 
world  can't  beat  it!" 

The  drill  " jumped"  with  crash'and  jar;  Miller's 
hammer  just  missed  Williams'  hand,  and  Doc's, 
closely  following,  was  checked  in  mid-air  by  a  violent 
effort.  The  holder  drew  the  drill  and  turned  the 
point  to  the  light.  An  inch  was  broken  from  the  bit ; 
any  succeeding  drill  would  batter  and  break  at  once ; 
the  hole  was  lost. 

A  despairing  silence :  Williams  fell  against  the  wall 
and  hid  his  eyes.  Doc's  head  dropped  over  his  hairy 
chest.  Miller's  face  was  ghastly.  .  .  .  Van  Atta 
picked  up  the  starter,  sank  on  one  knee,  with  his  face 
to  the  breast ;  holding  the  drill  in  place  beside  the  lost 
hole,  just  above  his  shoulder,  his  eyes  on  the  bit,  he 
waited.  A  second — and  Miller's  hammer  crashed 
down.  Clang!  Clang!  Clang! 

1  *  God 's  blood ! ' '  Red  with  shame,  the  giant  sprang 
up  and  showered  down  blow  on  mighty  blow.  A  mur- 
mur ran  around  the  circle;  the  little  band  closed 
grimly  to  the  final  test.  Jones  shaped  the  broken 
drill  again  and  hurried  back  to  bear  his  part.  The 
two  enemies  *were  doing  the  work.  The  others 
worked  gallantly— but  the  leaders  were  making  five 
inches  to  their  two.  What  matter,  where  each  gave 
his  best?  Five  inches — ten — thirty — forty! 

At  fifty  inches  Price  gave  way,  totally  unable  to 
do  more.  When  Caradoc  and  Miller  stepped  back, 
breathless,  Jones  and  Davis  tapped  away  dog- 


THE  LONG  SHIFT  55 

gedly,    but    there    was    no    force    to    their    blows. 

The  big  "Welshman  had  bitten  his  lip ;  blood  trick- 
led from  his  mouth  as  he  grinned  at  his  mate.  "  "Tis 
oop  to  us  now.  A  rare  team  we  make — and  good  for 
them  beyond ! ' ' 

Miller  nodded.  There  was  no  contempt  in  his 
glance  now.  Truly,  this  was  a  man ;  fit  to  stand  to  a 
king's  back,  though  he  fought  for  his  crown — strong 
of  heart  and  arm — this  man  he  had  dared  despise. 
Foot  to  foot,  blow  by  blow,  unyielding,  unswerving, 
they  stood  up  to  the  tremendous  task.  Sixty — seven- 
ty 1  Davis  and  Jones  made  a  last  desperate  spurt 
and  fell  back,  exhausted,  utterly  forspent.  Seventy- 
five  ! — Miller  and  Hughes! 

They  planted  their  feet  firmly  and  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  as  they  began  again.  Miller's  hammer 
kept  the  appalling  pace,  gave  no  sign  that  his 
strength  was  failing — ebbing  away  with  every  blow. 
.  .  .  Somewhere,  out  in  the  far-off  world,  there  was 
music  and  light  and  laughter.  Perhaps  he,  too,  had 
known  pleasure,  running  streams  that  laughed  in  the 
sunshine,  the  free  winds  of  heaven — youth — love — 
rest.  It  might  have  been  so — long,  long  since.  He 
did  not  know.  Life  had  dwindled  to  these  narrow- 
ing, flinty  walls,  this  dim-litten  circle,  with  its  waver- 
ing center  of  steel  where  they  must  strike — strike 
hard !  He  and  Doc — good  old  Doc — brave  Doc !  .  .  . 
Something  stirred  in  the  shadows  behind — far-off, 
meaningless  voices  reached  him  over  the  rising  clan- 
gor of  steel.  .  .  .  Men,  perhaps.  If  they  would  go 
away.  .  .  .  They  drew  his  reeling  senses  from  the 
shining  steel,  that  he  must  strike — strike  hard !  Eigh- 
ty— eighty-five — ninety ! 


56  WEST  IS  WEST 

Without  warning,  Miller  pitched  over  on  k\s  face, 
unconscious.  Their  best  was  down.  What  lay  in  the 
silence  beyond  that  granite  wall  ? 

Caradoc  leaned  heavily  against  the  wall  while 
they  bore  his  fallen  foe  away.  "Look  to  him — 'tis 
a  man ! ' '  he  said.  There  was  no  triumph  in  his  tones. 
He  staggered  forward.  "Whoosh!"  he  grunted,  as 
he  struck  out.  "Whoosh!" 

His  eyes  were  sunken  in  his  head,  his  blotched  and 
purple  face  was  fallen  in ;  his  sobbing  breath  whistled 
between  his  clenched  l^eeth,  his  breast  heaved  almost 
to  bursting;  but  his  mighty  shoulders  drove  home 
the  drill.  Ninety-five  inches — a  hundred!  And  still 
that  tireless  hammer  rose  and  fell! 

"Easy — mud — mud!"  yelled  Price,  at  the  drilL 
* '  It 's  done !  We  Ve  struck  their  drift ! ' ' 

A  dozen  light  taps,  and  the  drill  leapt  through. 
The  incredible  had  happened.  They  had  struck  the 
side  wall  of  the  counter-drift  made  by  the  prisoners 
on  pure  guess.  They  pulled  out  the  drill.  A  rush 
of  foul,  sickening  air  followed.  Price  shouted  down 
the  hole.  A  mumbled  response  came  back.  Van  Atta 
thrust  the  nozzle  of  the  hose  into  the  hole,  stuffed 
his  handkerchief  around  it  to  keep  it  tight,  and  ran 
down  the  tunnel.  Halfway  out  he  met  Charlie. 

"Run!"  he  gasped.  "We're  through — they're 
alive ;  all  of  'em !  Pump — pump  hard ! ' ' 

Any  San  Clemente  man  will  tell  you  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  H 

CHEERFUL.  LAND 

MR.  EMIL  JAMES  rode  down  the  main  street  of  San 
Clemente  in  the  bright  mid-morning  sun.  From  open 
doors  a  flourish  of  friendly  hands  kept  pace  with  him. 
Emil  waved  gay  return.  Tippytoes,  absurd  but  ad- 
mirable horse,  cocked  ears  to  left  or  right  at  each 
open  door  and  tossed  his  forelock  in  cheerful  saluta- 
tion of  his  own. 

Mr.  Emil  James,  the  bright  sun,  the  street  of  open 
doors — these  deserve  separate  consideration.  Emil 
was  a  tall  man  with  a  long,  serious  face,  only  preven- 
ted from  large  mirth  by  reasons  of  state.  His  eyes 
were  tranquil,  wide,  deep-blue  and  steady;  he  wore 
a  grizzly-gray  mustache  and  a  long,  thin,  straight 
nose.  The  first  was  trimmed  and  disciplined,  a  mus- 
tache that  knew  its  place;  and  Mr.  James  kept  on 
intimate  terms  with  the  second.  It  was  his  habit,  in 
perplexity  or  deliberation,  to  look  down  his  nose 
for  counsel.  He  did  not  squint,  he  merely  glanced: 
a  feat  possible  only  because  his  eyes  were  so  wide 
apart  and  his  nose  so  very  long.  For  the  rest,  he  was 
a  youngerly  man  who  looked,  and  may  have  been, 
from  thirty  to  forty  or  fifty. 

He  rode  loose-reined  and  gently  swaying,  irresis- 
tibly giving  the  effect  of  one  who  sits  at  cheerful  ease 
upon  a  shaded  porch  with  luxurious  feet  upon  a  rail- 

57 


58  WEST  IS  WEST 

ing;  relaxing,  after  stirring  hurly-burly,  to  a  little 
well-earned  repose. 

The  blue  eyes  of  Mr.  James,  twinkling  deep  be- 
neath a  shady  hat-brim,  made  inevitable  the  porch- 
thought,  just  as  his  loose-limbed  comfort  suggested 
the  oldest  and  best-beloved  of  easy-chairs.  The  gait 
was  a  walk,  but  it  was  a  swinging  walk,  roguish, 
jaunty  and  whimsical ;  a  walk  which  was  apparently 
on  the  point  of  breaking  into  a  jig ;  a  knowing  walk, 
cheerful  and  alert,  plainly  expecting  some  brisk  ad- 
venture at  any  turn  and  confident  of  a  creditable  part 
in  such  joyous  hazard  as  might  arise. 

Quite  spontaneously  and  of  his  own  motion,  the 
Tippytoes  horse  has  crowded  into  the  story  with  Mr. 
James;  which  is  as  it  should  be.  For  this  was  a 
land  of  a  strong  white  sun  and  cloudless  skies,  there- 
fore of  scant  water  and  vast  distances ;  where  a  horse 
and  his  rider  are  one. 

No  bully's  horse  ever  met  the  world  with  such 
friendly  eyes  as  Tippytoes;  no  bigot's  horse  would 
dare  such  rakish  impudence  of  bearing;  no  weak- 
ling's horse  could  ever  manage  that  joyous  swagger. 
With  every  careless,  confident  line  and  motion,  Tip- 
pytoes proclaimed  his  assurance  that  he  carried  a 
man. 

That  bright  sun  vouched  for  Emil's  broad  hat- 
brim  and  made  it  credible.  The  great  mountains 
made  soft  that  hat-brim  that  it  might  be  turned 
back  when  he  rode  in  their  cool  and  friendly  shelter ; 
just  as  the  long  dun  reaches  of  Malibu  Flat  made 
soft  that  hat-brim,  that  it  might  bend  to  the  strong 
winds  which  inhabit  such  dim  immensities. 

Wherever  the  eye  might  turn  it  fell  on  great  moun- 


CHEERFUL  LAND  59 

tains,  even  when  you  woke  in  the  starlit  night :  crim- 
son-edged against  the  rising  sun  or  black  against  the 
dawn;  gray,  brown  or  blue-black  of  morning  hours, 
dwinolled  and  dim  in  the  blaze  of  noon,  neutral  and 
smudged. 

They  were  colors  and  shapes  that  changed  and 
flowed  with  every  change  of  angle  or  distance.  Those 
work-day  grays  or  browns  melted  with  the  miles  to 
strong  and  nameless  hues — rich,  warm,  crude,  bar- 
baric. But  if  you  looked  westward  in  the  late  after- 
noon to  those  raw  and  gaudy  hills,  the  cool,  deep 
shadows  were  trembling  lilac,  edged  with  rose  and 
sparkled  with  gold-dust;  the  far-seen  hills  were 
purple  or  misty  blue ;  they  flamed  in  the  magic  sunset 
to  iridescent  opal  and  all  the  sea-shell  spendor  of 
dreams :  they  rose  high  in  the  iron  twilight,  mighty 
and  magnificent,  serene  with  promise  and  comfort 
and  refuge. — "I  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills, 
from  whence  cometh  my  help. ' ' 

On  Emil's  right  hand,  the  silent  levels  of  Malibu 
Flat  lay  spectral  and  somber,  rising  from  northern 
nothingness  and  haze,  stretching  on  and  on  across  the 
world,  fading  again  to  nothingness  in  the  south. 

Across  the  desert,  dim  and  far,  the  Continental 
Divide  rimmed  out  the  west — a  long  wall,  uneven 
and  unbroken,  range  after  bristling  range  in  a  linked 
and  welded  chain :  the  purple  island-cones  of  Datil, 
the  nearer  Hueco,  the  low  red  blaze  of  Red  Mesa,  the 
blue  Malibu,  Copa  de  Oro.  This  particular  vertebra 
in  the  backbone  of  the  Continent  was  known  locally 
as  Malibu  Range,  taking  its  name  from  the  Malibu 
proper.  Jointed  and  socketed  with  it,  the  Black 
gange  made  a  lavender  line  along  the  south. 


60  WEST  IS  WEST 

Straight  across,  where  the  Malibu  was  blue  beyond 
the  desert,  thin,  tenuous  silhouettes  of  palest  ame- 
thyst peered  dim  and  ghostly  over  the  Malibu  wall 
— the  double  peaks  of  San  Quentin,  a  long  day  fur- 
ther in  the  western  deeps. 

Near  by,  at  Emil's  back,  the  foursquare  bulk  of 
Pinetop  mountain  gloomed  above  the  north  and  the 
east ;  so  near,  the  pine  trees  on  the  crest  showed  plain 
against  the  sky-line,  inch-long  and  feather-slight. 

Nearer,  the  high  sharp  cone  of  San  Clemente  Peak 
towered  at  his  left :  San  Clemente  Gap  was  notched 
deep  beneath  it.  And  from  that  Gap,  San  Clemente 
Draw  made  a  steep  semicircle  southward  around  the 
base  of  Ghost  Mountain,  where  tunnels  gophered  and 
mine  dumps  sprawled,  where  trail  and  road  zig- 
zagged doubtfully  to  derrick  and  dump. 

Close  beyond  Ghost  Mountain  and  high  above  it, 
upleaping  from  illimitable  chasms  between,  the  ma- 
gic crest  of  Fantasia  Range  swung  across  the  sky 
with  rush  and  onsweep,  dominating  day  and  night 
and  dream- 
There  were  those  who  found  these  vast  horizons 
depressing  and  desolate,  who  took  no  healing  of  the 
hills,  who  miscalled  that  bright-cheering  sun  as  a 
glaring  sun,  a  flaming  sun  in  a  copper  sky:  so  dull 
and  gray  their  wonted  skies,  so  leaden,  sullen  and 
unkind. 

Not  San  Clemente.  San  Clemente  found  in  these 
great  spaces  the  lure  of  hope,  new  ventures,  un- 
guessed  delights ;  knew  that  kindly  sun  as  the  giver 
of  life,  oppressor  of  gloom  and  despair,  the  under- 
writer of  joy. 

It  might  be  admitted  by  San  Clemente,  without 


CHEERFUL  LAND  61 

prejudice,  that  the  sun  was  warmish,  perhaps, 
around  midday  or  thereabouts.  Nothing  more. 

First,  the  cowmen.  They  worked  like  demons  of 
the  pit  at  roundup  time,  cool  spring  or  cool  fall.  But 
cattle  could  not  be  worked  in  summer.  It  was  too  hot 
— for  the  cattle.  Nor  in  winter,  which  was  too  cold — 
for  the  cattle.  These  seasons  were  therefore  set 
apart  by  all  cattlemen  as  a  half-life  of  gentle  diver- 
tisement. 

Ten-mule  teams,  twenty-mule  teams,  hauled  ore 
through  the  Gap  and  across  the  eastern  desert,  va- 
riously known  as  Magdalena  Valley  or  Magdalena 
Plain.  Eidgepole,  terminus  of  a  railroad  of  sorts, 
branch  of  a  jerkwater  branch,  was  their  journey's 
end.  They  brought  back  supplies  and  machinery  on 
the  return  trip. 

These  freighters — Mexican  all — drove  by  night,  as 
a  matter  of  course.  The  round  trip  took  six  days. 
Monday  morning,  load  with  ore  and  pull  up  to  San 
Clemente  ranch,  the  water  nearest  the  Gap:  across, 
the  Gap  at  twilight,  then  a  long  night  drive,  noon- 
ing from  eight  to  five  in  the  middle  of  Magdalena 
Plains  on  Tuesday,  Eidgepole  at  Wednesday  break- 
fast time,  ore  in  the  cars  Wednesday  night,  load  up 
return  freight  on  Thursday  morning,  unload  it  at 
San  Clemente  Saturday  night;  Sunday  for  monte 
and  other  delights  of  home.  Freighters  thought 
of  the  sun  largely  as  a  reliable  sedative  and  aid  to 
sleep. 

The  miners  worked  underground.  This  statement 
might  be  classed  as  a  truism;  but  so  many  of  us  are 
unfamiliar  with  that  underworld,  that  the  story 
hopes  it  may  be  pardoned  for  emphasizing  so  obvi- 


62  WEST  IS  WEST 

ous  a  fact.     The  sun  concerned  miners  chiefly  as 
something  which  made  shade  pleasant. 

The  miners  were  Cornishmen,  Welshmen  and  a  few 
Irish — even  a  few  Americans.  San  Clemente,  it  will 
be  seen,  was  cosmopolitan.  They  worked  in  three 
shifts,  from  seven  in  the  morning  to  three  in  the  af- 
ternoon, from  three  to  eleven,  from  eleven  at  night 
till  seven  in  the  morning ;  eight  hours  for  work,  eight 
hours  to  sleep,  eight  hours  for  their  very  own,  to  be 
squandered  or  banked.  Every  two  weeks  they 
changed  shifts  in  rotation. 

Business  San  Clemente  transacted  that  busy-ness 
within  doors.  The  leisure  of  San  Clemente,  the  get- 
ting on  people,  up-and-coming  people,  the  eastern 
contingent — capitalists,  promoters,  pleasure-seekers 
and  health-seekers — dwelt  magnificently  in  "Chau- 
taqua,"  braced  and  morally  uplifted  by  straight 
streets.  The  story  believes  that  the  Chautaquans 
themselves  referred  to  their  rightangular  suburb  as 
"the  North  Side."  Needless  to  state,  the  Chauta- 
quans were  independent  alike  of  exertion  and  of  the 
sun.  As  a  whole,  San  Clemente  was  nocturnal  of 
habit  and  swore  by  the  sun. 

Eidgepole  stage-drivers  were  exceptions.  The 
stage  arrived  at  Eidgepole,  and  left  that  gateway 
town,  to  suit  the  convenience  of  a  mixed  train  which 
frequently  made  connections  at  Saragossa  with 
north-bound  and  south-bound  passenger  trains, 
which  in  turn  were  timed  for  close  connection  with 
the  haughty  Pliers  on  the  main  lines  at  Albu- 
querque or  El  Paso.  Because  of  this  arbitrary  and 
thrice-removed  fixing  of  hours,  the  Eidgepole  stage 
went  through  by  daylight.  Hueco  and  Datil  stages, 


CHEERFUL  LAND  63 

running  respectively  west  and  northwest  from  San 
Clemente,  were  night  lines. 

The  street  of  open  doors  was  a  long  street,  a  lei- 
surely street,  a  straggling  street;  above  all,  a  toler- 
ant street.  The  old  wagon  road  followed  closely  the 
semicircle  of  San  Clemente  Draw  around  the  foot  of 
Ghost  Mountain;  the  new  and  tolerant  street  made 
the  same  wide  circling.  Why  not?  Why  be  needlessly 
precise  and  prim  and  rectilinear?  The  road  was  a 
fine  old  road,  its  history  such  as  the  street  delighted 
to  honor.  Besides,  it  was  a  shallow  dig  to  water, 
near  the  draw ;  why  go  higher  to  dig  deeper?  Again, 
Sundown  Ridge — low,  rolling  and  broken — paral- 
leled at  once  the  winding  draw,  the  old  road,  and  the 
flowing  lines  of  Ghost  Mountain.  A  curving  street 
made  harmony  with  such  environment;  a  straight 
street  would  be  a  jarring  discord ;  and  the  street  had 
no  mind  to  make  itself  unpleasant,  thank  you.  The 
very  name  of  it  was  Roundabout :  with  such  a  name, 
how  could  a  street  be  built  straight  ? 

That  the  doors  of  this  tolerant  street  were  open 
was  not  altogether  due  to  the  warmth  of  the  climate. 
The  story  hopes  that  so  much  will  have  been  guessed : 
that  this  tolerant  and  whimsical  street  was  also  a 
highly  allegorical  street:  that  the  open  doors  were 
in  some  part  a  symbol  and  a  sign  of  friendliness  and 
welcome.  If  it  has  not  been  guessed,  it  is  here  ex- 
pressly stated. 

But  if  Roundabout  Street  was  friendly,  it  had  its 
own  reticence ;  each  house  was  set  well  back  from  the 
i;oad.  Superficial  folk  said  this  was  because  of  the 
dust.  But  each  house  kept  at  a  generous  distance 
from  its  neighbors  and  the  cause  of  that  was  not 


64  WEST  IS  WEST 

dust.  It  was  a  large  desire  for  independence,  priva- 
cy and  elbow  room. 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  street,  nearest  the  gateway 
to  the  eastern  desert,  stood  the  immemorial  San 
Clemente  Ranch,  hidden  and  fenced  by  deep  and  im- 
penetrable shade  of  ancient  cottonwoods. 

The  long  row  of  one-storied  rooms,  the  long,  low 
stables  and  the  corrals,  were  built  in  one  continuous 
wall,  forming  a  great  quadrangle  of  massive  abode. 
All  windows  and  doors  faced  on  the  enclosed  court- 
yards. The  outer  walls,  house,  stable,  and  corrals, 
were  two  feet  thick,  pierced  near  the  top  by  loop- 
holes. The  two-foot  bench  made  within  by  an  offset 
was  for  riflemen  to  stand  upon  in  war.  In  peace  it 
made  a  desirable  shelf,  that  took  near  to  four  hun- 
dred yards  to  complete  the  square. 

This  had  been  a  Gibraltar  among  ranches  in  the 
old  Apache  days,  a  virgin  fortress  famed  by  in- 
terminable songs  of  liquid,  feminine,  soft-syllabled 
Spanish. 

On  the  western  side  once  swung  a  mighty  gate  of 
double  valves,  bullet-proof,  framed  of  hewn  logs 
from  Pinetop.  Entering,  in  those  old  days,  you 
turned  at  a  right  angle  and  rode  down  a  titanic  cor- 
ridor, between  walls  ten  feet  high ;  to  where,  beyond 
the  reach  of  any  slantwise  bullet  through  the  outer 
gate,  a  second  gateway  turned  through  the  inner 
wall. 

The  old  ranch  had  long  since  been  made  base  and 
headquarters  for  the  freight  teams,  and  was  now 
named  anew  as  "  Chihuahua. "  Opposite  the  old  outer 
portal,  the  inner  wall  was  pierced  for  a  straight  road 
and  now  crumpled  to  unrepaired  decay:  the  massive 


CHEERFUL  LAND  65 

•war-doors  were  long  discarded  for  light-swinging 
peaceful  gates  that  a  child  might  open. 

Through  freighters,  too,  for  whom  San  Clemente 
was  a  way  station,  made  this  a  camping  place  and 
half-way  house.  Their  schedules  were  semi-occa- 
sional: their  westwise  roads  radiated  fan-like  from 
San  Clemente  Gap ;  they  brought  from  the  long  Ma- 
libu  Range  what  ore  was  rich  enough  to  stand  the 
long  haul;  in  clipping-time,  great  bags  of  mohair 
from  Son  Todos,  wool  from  Fuentes. 

Above  the  song-haunted  cottonwoods  rose  the  high 
bell-tower  of  San  Clemente  Church — old,  but  young- 
er than  the  ranch  by  a  near  century.  "The  groves 
were  God's  first  temples;"  mass  and  marriage  and 
solemn  service  for  the  dead  had  been  held  under 
those  old  trees  for  generations  before  ever  the  church 
was  built. 

On  Roundabout  Street,  on  the  Plaza  of  Business- 
town,  on  the  low  hills  of  compact  Chautaqua,  the 
comparative  age  of  any  building  was  accurately  re- 
corded by  the  size  of  its  tributary  cottonwood  trees ; 
swiftest  of  growth  of  all  shade  trees,  dearest  to  the 
desert  dweller. 

Because  men  outnumbered  the  women  by  about 
three  or  thirteen  to  one,  San  Clemente  ran  largely 
to  boarding  houses.  For  the  same  reason,  the  town 
supported  a  suprisingly  good  hotel,  The  Ugly  Duck- 
ling, which  took  up  nearly  all  the  south  side  of  the 
Plaza. 

The  proprietor  of  the  Duckling  was  a  sentimental 
Dane;  hence  the  name,  a  compliment  at  once  to  his 
greatest  compatriot  and  to  his  own  skill  as  purveyor 
of  comfort.  Thirty  years  back,  half  of  San  Clemente 


66  WEST  IS  WEST 

was  persistent  to  know  the  young  Dane  as  Andy 
Anderson;  the  other  half  clung  stubbornly  to  Ole 
Oleson.  They  had  compromised  on  Oleander.  The 
young  Dane  had  grown  to  be  an  old  American  now ; 
as  Oleander  he  was  pillar  and  landmark  in  San  Cle- 
jmente ;  but  his  own  name  was  a  forgotten  thing. 

The  Duckling  was  built  of  abode.  It  was  one  story 
high  and  one  room  wide :  nobody  knew  exactly  how 
long  it  was.  Upended,  it  would  have  made  a  notable 
skyscraper.  Besides  the  hotel,  the  building  housed 
the  Post  Office,  the  Telephone  Exchange,  three 
Stage-lines  and  sundry  offices  of  mining  companies, 
and  the  like.  Even  so,  the  Duckling  bedrooms  had 
never  all  been  filled  at  once. 

The  long  shady  veranda  of  the  Duckling  was,  ex 
officio,  the  San  Clemente  Club.  Even  at  this  early 
hour  a  dozen  men  utilized  that  shady  comfort ;  half  as 
many  saddled  horses,  with  dangling  reins,  visited 
together  under  the  Duckling  cottonwoods.  Tippy- 
toes  slanted  his  eager  ears  that  way. 

Emil  folded  his  hands  on  the  saddle-horn  and  re- 
garded the  veranda  benevolently. 

"This  is  a  fine  bunch,"  he  said. 

The  bunch  gave  vigorous  and  varied  assent  to  this 
proposition;  except  Keough,  who  dented  his  nose 
in  sneering  silence,  and  old  man  G  ibson,  who  snorted. 
/It  was  a  representative  gathering,  miners  and  freigh- 
ters aside.  First  were  young  Billy  Armstrong  and 
"Pretty  Pierre"  Hines  of  Chautaqua.  For  the 
cattle  intrests  were  Owen  Quinliven,  half  owner  of 
the  Double  Dee  brand,  a  huge,  brindled,  freckle-faced 
ex-miner;  Steve  Thompson,  smooth-faced  and  bright 
eyed,  who  gave  the  Hook-and-Ladder ;  and  burly, 


ft 
CHEERFUL  LAND  67 

surly  Gibson — Old  Man  Gibson  of  the  Berenda.  The 
townsmen  were  represented  by  Cox,  editor  of 
The  Inland  Empire;  black-browed  Keough  of  the  te- 
lephone exchange;  Baker,  manager  of  the  three 
stage  lines ;  Max  Goldenburg  of  the  New  York  Store ; 
serious,  flaxen-bearded,  square-faced  Oleander  him- 
self ;  and  the  quiet  professional  gentleman  known  as 
"Monte".  The  twelfth  chair-warmer  was  Ed  Dow- 
lin,  unclassified;  lumberman,  cattleman,  mine  owner 
and  Free  Lance. 

"I  hear,"  said  Emil,  addressing  Keough,  "that 
you  had  a  right  smart  doings  over  on  the  Malibu  last 
week.  Got  out  of  it  lucky,  didn't  you?" 

"You  may  think  so,"  said  Keough  bitterly.  "I 
fail  to  see  it. ' ' 

Emil  took  counsel  with  his  nose. 

"Why,  you  got  'em  all  out  alive  and  unhurt,  didn't 
you?" 

"Including  the  fool  that  set  off  the  powder."  Ke- 
ough's  white  and  bloodless  face  flamed  to  sudden 
red.  Emil  exchanged  a  glance  with  Dowlin.  Dowlin 
arched  an  eyebrow. 

"He  makes  me  sick,  Keough  does.  All  he  thinks 
of  is  the  money  lost."  Quinliven  spat  the  words  from 
his  mouth ;  he  had  been  trapped  in  mines  himself. 

"Get  down  and  look  at  your  saddle,"  suggested 
Billy.  ' '  Maybe  somebody '11  buy  a  cigar.  Ed,  you  do 
it." 

Emil  shook  his  head.  "Just  now  I'm  looking  for 
that  new  N  8  person.  Anybody  know  where  he  is?" 

Oleander  jerked  a  thumb  over  his  shoulder.  "Out 
in  the  corral,  getting  Pat  to  show  him  how  to  throw 
a  diamond  hitch." 


68  WEST  IS  WEST 

"Some  boy,"  said  Steve  approvingly.  "Yester- 
day he  pestered  Spencer  into  taking  him  all  through 
the  Torpedo  and  had  him  explain  all  about  minin', 
from  A  to  Izzard.  Day  before  that  he  borrowed  that 
little  Redlegs  outlaw  hawse  of  mine  and  started  in 
to  learn  how  to  stay  topside,  and  how  about  it.  Per- 
severin'  cuss!  I'd  be  ashamed  to  say  how  many 
times  that  little  roan  devil  piled  him.  I  took  'em 
over  in  a  sandy  draw,  so  there  wasn't  much  chance 
for  the  kid  to  get  hurt,  and  he  stuck  to  it  till  he  could 
ride  him  slick.  The  old  scoundrel  was  pitchin'  right 
peart,  too.  John  Sayles,  he  got  skinned  up  some, 
but  he  sure  was  enjoyin'  himself  a  heap.  He  '11  make 
a  hand. ' ' 

"He  came  also  to  me /for  a  leetle  eenstruction, " 
said  Monte  diffidently.  "He  ees  ver*  deeligent  es- 
scholar." 

"Well,  now,  this  is  very  gratifying,"  said  Emil, 
"and  goes  to  show  that  you  never  can  tell.  Why, 
when  he  climbed  out  of  the  stage  in  them  dizzy  duds, 
I  didn't  nowise  pick  him  for  a  live  one.  Very  next 
day  I  found  him  up  on  the  wagon  road  learnin'  how 
to  hold  a  drill.  My  mistake.  I'll  go  get  him." 

He  raised  his  bridle  hand  and  rode  into  the  corral. 
There,  flushed  and  perspiring,  John  Sayles  Watter- 
son,  Jr.,  late  of  Princeton  University,  was  engaged 
in  packing  empty  boxes  upon  a  patient  and  sleepy 
gray  burro.  In  this  design  he  was  aided  and  abetted 
by  old  Pat  Nunn. 

' '  'Lo,  Pat !    Howdy,  young  man ! ' ' 

"Oh,  good-day!    Mr.  James,  isn't  it?" 

"Hello,  yourself!  Anything  wanted?"  said  old 
Pat. 


CHEERFUL  LAND  69 

"A  few  words  with  the  middle-aged  one,  poco 
tiempo.  No  hurry;  go  through  with  your  lesson.'* 

"There!  That's  solid!  Good  hitch  for  heavy 
stuff,  the  diamond  is,"  said  old  Pat,  a  little  later. 
' i  But  it  takes  two  men  to  throw  it.  You  get  Emil  to 
show  you  the  Lost  Cowboy.  And  a  plain  N-hitch  is 
good  enough  for  just  a  roll  of  bedding  and  such. 
Here's  your  man,  Emil.  Go  to  him.  I'll  drag  it." 

"Nothing  confidential,  Pat — stick  around.  Now 
then,  young  man,  I  understand  you're  going  to  make 
a  visit  to  the  N  8  ranch,  and  are  waiting  for  a  chance 
to  get  out  there.  Is  that  right?" 

"Eight  as  rain." 

"All  aboard,  then.  I  am  now  organizing  a  little 
expedition  for  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  and  you  are 
hereby  invited  to  make  one  of  two.  I'm  the  other 
one." 

"Done  with  you.  How  do  we  go?  Horseback? 
When  do  we  start  ? ' ' 

"We  go  in  the  slickest  little  covered  spring  wagon 
you  ever  rolled  your  eagle  eye  over,"  said  Emil, 
"and  we  start  from  my  place  soon  this  evenin' — 
about  half -past  four.  Horseback  across  Malibu  Flat 
is  too  long  a  trip  for  a  new  beginner. ' ' 

"Yours  truly,  and  thank  you  kindly,"  said  Jones 
Sayles.  "I'll  hire  a  rig  from  the  hotel  to  take  me 
and  my  traps  to  your  ranch." 

"Hire  a  pig  with  three  long  tushes!"  said  Emil. 
1 '  Borrow  yourself  a  horse  from  some  one.  Pat  will 
lend  you  a  horse — any  one  will.  Stick  your  shiny 
new  saddle  on  him,  wrap  a  change  of  clothes  in  a 
slicker  and  tie  it  behind,  strap  your  rifle  under  your 
leg  and  come  along.  You  leave  your  other  plunder 


70  WEST  IS  WEST 

here  at  the  hotel  and  Oleander  will  send  it  out  the 
next  time  the  ranch  wagon  comes  for  supplies. '  * 

''But  how  will  I  get  Mr.  Nunn's  horse  to  him?" 

" Shucks!  You  turn  him  loose  and  he'll  come 
straight  home.  Then  you  hurl  your  saddle  in  my 
wagon.  Some  time  tomorrow  night  I'll  set  you  down 
at  Fuentes.  You  get  another  horse  there  and  ride 
him  to  the  N  8  ranch.  It's  only  twenty  miles,  and 
plain  landmarks  to  ride  for.  Then  you  can  turn  that 
horse  loose,  too.  Come  along.  You  have  got  fifteen 
minutes  to  organize  yourself.  We'll  shack  along 
over  to  the  Square  and  Compass,  sleep  while  it's 
hot,  and  start  this  evening. ' ' 

"  Where  are  you  going  to,  your  own  self,  Emil?" 
asked  old  Pat. 

"Over  on  the  Malibu — just  rammin'  around.'* 

At  the  upper  end  of  Roundabout,  young  Watterson 
reined  in  and  turned  for  a  last  look  at  the  straggling 
town  and  the  headlong  hills  beyond.  The  bells  of 
San  Clemente  shook  terce  from  the  old  church  tower. 

"Yes,"  said  Emil,"  horses  are  sure  intelligent." 

"How  sof    I  don't  get  you." 

"Son,  you're  going  to  try  ranchin'  one  small  spell, 
you  tell  me.  Listen  now;  when  they  send  you  out 
to  hunt  saddle  horses,  you  ride  straight  to  the  like- 
liest and  the  finest-looking  glade  you  know.  .You'll 
find  'em  there,  if  there's  any  grass  there  at  all. 
Horses  like  beautiful  places.  They  appreciate  them. 
Humans  is  just  the  same  way.  San  Clemente,  now; 
it  imagines  it  is  here  because  of  the  mines.  All  bosh ; 
people  found  the  mines  just  as  an  excuse  for  staying 
here.  Even  finer  country  on  the  east  side,  though, 
where  all  our  ranches  are.  I'll  build  a  town  there 


CHEERFUL  LAND  71 

some  day,  when  the  railroad  comes.  Yes,  I  will — 
you'll  see !  In  the  meantime  old  San  Clemente  is  the 
most  beautiful  town  I  know. 

1 '  Take  Ridgepole  now — she 's  our  rival.  She 's  got 
richer  mines  and  more  of  'em,  mines  that  have 
proved  their  stayin'  qualities.  She's  got  a  railroad; 
we're  handicapped  by  forty-five  mile  of  blisterin', 
hell-roarin'  desert.  But  San  Clemente  has  double 
the  people.  'Cause  why?  They  don't  know,  bless 
your  heart — the  San  Clemente  folks  don't.  But  I'll 
tell  you ;  it's  the  pull  of  the  big  old  mountain  yonder, 
and  little  Ghost  Mountain  and  the  little  parks  of  ce- 
dar and  live  oak  and  the  sleepy  curves  or  the  draw. 

*  *  Mighty  nice  people,  too — most  of  'em  is.  A  few 
mean  ones,  like  the  white-faced  fiend  Keough — stew- 
in'  about  a  little  dirty  money  when  men's  lives  were 
at  stake.  That 's  how  you  can  pick  the  bad  ones,  kid 
— by  the  value  they  set  on  money.  You'll  find  some 
several  swine  in  San  Clemente,  if  you  keep  your  eye 
on  the  hog  trough.  Let's  go!" 

" Water,"  said  Emil  James,  slowly  and  serious- 
ly, counting  his  fingers  by  way  of  tally — "  matches, 
coffee,  coffee-pot,  sugar,  tincow,  tin  cups  and  spoons 
— that's  coffee."    As  he  spoke  he  carefully  packed 
the  objects  named  on  the  shelves  of  the  chuck-box,, 
misses'  and  children's  size,  of  "the  slickest  little] 
spring  wagon." 

That  spring  wagon  was  the  especial  pride  and 
comfort  of  Emil's  heart.  When  you  learn  that  he 
kept  it  painted  and  sheltered  you  will  know — if  you 
are  a  frontiersman — just  where  that  little  wagon 
stood  in  Emil's  affections 


72  WEST  IS  WEST 

It  was  wrought  by  the  best  skill  under  Emil's  jeal- 
ous supervision:  built  to  be  both  light  and  strong. 
Six  woods  went  to  the  making  of  it — hickory,  oak, 
tough  hornbeam,  black  birch,  whitewood — clear 
stock,  straight  grained — with  gnarled  Bois  d'Arc 
for  the  hubs ;  all  seasoned  for  seven  years,  and  kiln 
dried  to  stand  up  in  the  dry  air  of  the  desert.  The 
highest  quality  of  iron  and  steel  went  to  the  fittings, 
the  toughest  and  easiest  of  springs.  The  wagon  bed, 
framed  and  panelled  for  lightness,  had  no  nail  or 
screw  in  it ;  cunningly  joined  by  mortise,  tenon,  dowel 
and  dovetail  and  housed  joints;  all  locked  to  place 
by  long  and  slender  bolts  at  the  four  corners.  A 
touch  on  the  strong  f ootbrake  locked  the  wheels  and 
there  was  a  step  in  front  of  the  front  wheel. 

Where  the  tail-gate  might  have  been,  the  chuck 
box  was  " built  in"  to  avoid  superfluous  weight, 
floor  and  sides  of  the  wagon  box  being  also  floor  and 
sides  of  the  chuckbox.  Between  chuckbox  and  the 
only  seat,  the  wagon  box  flared  over  the  wheels,  after 
the  fashion  of  a  hay  rigging,  just  long  enough  and 
wide  enough  to  accomodate  a  light  set  of  bed  springs. 
The  deep  space  beneath  it  was  for  promiscuous  car- 
go. Under  the  lazyback  spring  seat  was  a  low  oaken 
water-tank,  also  "built  in";  doing  away  with  the 
customary  water-kegs,  usually  slung  at  the  sides  of 
such  a  wagon  by  iron  straps. 

The  whole  was  surmounted  by  a  ribbed  top,  braced 
and  firm,  leather  covered.  There  were  light  racks 
and  straps  at  the  top  for  clothing  or  small  effects; 
there  were  leather  side  curtains,  with  pockets  in 
them,  marvelous  because  they  would  go  up  and  stay 
up,  or  come  down  and  stay  down;  there  was  also  that 


CHEERFUL  LAND  73 

rarest  of  luxuries,  a  lantern  that  would  give  light. 

"Bacon,  frying-pan,  knives,  forks  and  plates — 
that's  bacon.  Flour,  water,  salt,  baking  powder, 
lard,  dutchoven — that 's  bread.  Beans,  canned  truck, 
spuds,  pepper — that's  extrys." 

"Don't  forget  the  water  for  potatoes.  Or  are  you 
: doing  that  little  ditty  to  exercise  your  lungs?" 

"Son,  if  this  is  delayin'  you  any,"  said  Emil  be- 
nignly, "try  to  put  up  with  it,  will  you?  I'm  consi- 
derable old  maidish  and  set  in  my  ways.  And  I  can 
tell  you  something  useful." 

"Go  as  far  as  you  like." 

"All  right!  John  Sayles  Watterson,  Junior;  I 
have  twice  heard  you  strongly  voice  opinion  that 
most  men  in  this  country  do  things  well.  It  is  true. 
We  admit  it.  And  now  I  am  to  tell  you  why.  It  is  be- 
cause a  man  in  this  country  is  always  trying  for  two 
things;  to  be  his  own  foreman,  who  says  what  now 
and  next  to  do,  and  to  be  his  own  inspector,  to  see 
that  before  he  quits  he  makes  a  good  job  of  it.  I'm 
inspecting;  and  I  don't  want  my  attention  distrac- 
ted. You  keep  still!  .  .  .  Shot  gun  and  shells — 
that's  quail  and  rabbits.  Rifle  and  cartridges — that's 
venison.  Blankets — that's  bed.  Your  saddle  and 
truck — that's  under  the  bedsprings.  Canteens,  wa- 
ter-buckets, hobbles,  ropes,  nosebags — that's  sun- 
dries. Corn  for  horses — that's  good.  Water — that's 
life.  That's  all.  Let's  go!— There!  I  near  forgot 
the  axle-grease!" 


CHAPTER  in 

MALIBU  FLAT 

PINTO  was  a  red  horse,  broad-belted  with  white. 
He  wore  a  white  shirt-front  and  white  stockings,  out- 
size, carelessly  gartered.  He  was  also  slashed  and 
spangled  and  harlequin-checked  with  white  as  to 
head,  neck,  shoulders,  side,  flank  and  hip. 

Paint  was  white,  splashed  with  red ;  and  afterward 
splattered  with  shakings  from  the  brush.  Moreover, 
to  avoid  monotony,  he  was  freckled  with  little  brown 
spots,  and  a  long,  narrow,  irregular  splotch  of  jet 
black  criss-crossed  down  his  off  hip  and  thigh.  Long 
curly  tail,  long  curly  mane  were  delicate  cream.  Just 
for  a  surprise,  both  ears  were  one  color,  a  modest 
red.  Then,  while  you  were  off  your  guard,  one  eye 
was  black  and  the  other  a  startling  blue.  John  Sayles 
jumped  when  he  came  upon  that  blue  eye  unawares. 

They  made  a  sprightly  team,  worthy  of  the  won- 
drous wagon.  Emil  had  matched  them  with  loving 
care,  picking  from  his  cdballada  of  six  hundred  head. 
Their  gaits  were  frisk,  scamper  and  scurry;  for 
town  work  they  could  saunter  and  strut.  I 

They  now  wore  an  expression  of  singularly  care- 
free; they  exchanged  a  knowing  glance  which  said 
so  plainly  that  they  tolerated  the  harness  only  be- 
cause of  some  private  designs  of  their  own,  that 
John  Sayles,  intercepting  that  message  by  chancy 
felt  like  an  eavesdropper. 

74 


MALIBU  FLAT  75 

There  was  a  preliminary  egg-dance;  they  scram- 
bled back  through  the  Gap,  they  turned  sharply  to 
the  right  on  a  faint  and  little-used  road  and  scudded 
down  the  gentle  slope  of  a  long  winding  ridge,  car- 
peted with  a  turf  of  short  yellow  grass,  neighbored 
by  a  thousand  yellow  ridges  precisely  like  it.  Then 
.'  John  Sayles  began  to  see  how  the  desert  had  fooled 
him.  Malibu  Flat  was  not  flat  at  all. 

Seen  from  town,  through  the  low  gaps  between  the 
hillocks  of  Sundown  Ridge,  the  plain  had  appeared 
to  be  absolutely  level  and  either  brown  or  of  a  dull 
slate  color.  John  Sayles  saw  now  that  it  was  a 
wrinkled  slope  of  gentle  ridges  for  rather  more  than 
halfway  across,  all  keeping  the  same  long  easy  grade 
down  to  a  narrow  and  insignificant  gray  strip  near 
the  middle,  after  which  it  immediately  began  to  rise 
toward  the  other  side  in  a  shorter  and  steeper  slope 
— a  dark  brown  slope. 

John  Sayles  dismissed  Malibu  Flat  from  his  atten- 
tion, rather  disappointed,  and  turned  to  ask  a  few 
questions  about  the  little  bunches  of  cattle  they 
passed,  whose  were  they  and  where  did  they  water 
— when,  all  at  once,  under  their  very  feet  the  ridge 
broke  away  to  yawning  deeps.  Below  them  stretched 
a  red  sandstone  maze  of  foothills,  heaped  and  tum- 
bled ;  unseen  before  because  the  highest  top  of  them 
was  lower  than  the  smooth  ridge  country. 

The  wagon  road  plunged  and  dived  down  the 
ridge-end,  rope-walked,  a  hog-back,  twisted  and 
squirmed  through  the  red  hills  to  a  deep,  winding 
cafion.  And  presently  the  canon  walls  grew  lower; 
another  sharp  bend  and  they  came  out  upon  a  broad 
sea  of  plain,  treeless,  gray  with  scattered  bunch 


76  WEST  IS  WEST 

grass,  dotted  with  cattle  and  bands  of  horses ;  a  plain 
that  filled  the  horizon;  that  far-off  brown  slope  was 
now  a  brown  ribbon  at  the  base  of  the  Malibu. 

After  a  little,  their  faint  and  grass-grown  track 
joined  a  big,  plain  road,  which  bore  quartering  across 
the  flat  to  the  northwest. 

"This  is  the  Hueco-Datil  road,"  said  Emil.  "We 
follow  it  as  far  as  the  third  stage-station,  so  we  can 
water  the  horses  at  midnight.  Then  we  turn  straight 
across." 

The  sun  was  low  above  the  Malibu ;  the  cool  night 
wind  began  to  rise.  The  horses  snorted  cheerfully 
and  settled  to  a  brisk  jog.  Far  ahead — whenever  the 
wagon  topped  a  ground  swell — a  little  green  streak 
of  low  brush  showed  in  a  thin  line  of  fuzz. 

"The  first  station  is  behind  us,  way  back  where 
the  stage  road  left  the  hills,  maybe  five  mile  before 
we  come  to  it."  added  Emil.  "We're  making  right 
good  time." 

John  Sayles  looked  back  and  marvelled.  The 
huddled  red  foothills  were  an  insignificant  splash, 
blazing  low  in  the  level  light  of  sunset.  Above,  that 
easy  slope  of  smooth  ridges  was  unbelievably  steep, 
merging  indistinguishable  with  the  mountain  mass 
to  which  it  made  plinth  and  pedestal;  Ghost  Moun- 
tain was  only  a  thin  wraith-outline ;  beyond,  Fantasia 
Range  soared  to  incredible  heights  against  the  tur- 
quoise sky.  Fascinated,  the  boy  watched  the  shadow 
of  the  world  creep  over  the  plain  and  up  the  steeps, 
saw  sunset  hide  in  the  crags  and  linger  on  the  flame- 
tipped  crest.  The  swift  twilight  came  on  with  a 
rush. 

John  Sayles  sighed  and  came  back  to  the  front 


MALIBU  FLAT  77 

seat.  The  thin  line  of  brush  met  them  halfway.  They 
drove  into  it;  without  warning,  all  the  world  was  a 
bush-dotted  wilderness  of  white  chalk-hills,  rippling 
in  low  waves.  The  broad  plain  was  gone.  Nothing 
was  left  but  the  far  mountains  and  the  endless  sink 
and  swell  of  billowing  chalk.  The  short  twilight 
passed  in  a  breath ;  the  stars  blazed  out. 

Clouds  of  white  dust  lifted  with  the  wheels :  they 
gritted  in  the  chalk-ruts,  they  lurched  in  the  chuck- 
holes:  the  team  slowed  to  a  plodding  walk.  The 
black  bulk  of  Pinetop  shouldered  into  the  desert  and 
crowded  the  stage  road  further  out.  They  came  to  a 
mile-wide  sunken  valley,  lush  with  thick  grass.  This 
was  the  Sinks  of  the  Percha ;  the  lights  of  the  second 
stage  station  twinkled  across  its  deeps.  They  passed 
it,  they  climbed  out  of  the  sink  and  came  to  a  good 
footing  and  a  rolling  country;  they  see-sawed  up 
and  down  or  wound  between  the  little  hills.  It  was 
near  midnight  when  they  watered  at  the  third  stage- 
station.  They  left  the  stage-road  here,  turning 
sharply  to  the  left.  John  Sayles,  at  Emil's  urging, 
stretched  out  on  the  spring  bed.  The  last  he  heard 
was  the  wheels  crunching  through  the  sand. 

Emil  stopped  the  wagon  at  two  in  the  morning,  to 
make  camp  for  three  vital  hours,  from  two  to  five, 
when  strength  of  horse  and  man  is  at  lowest  ebb. 
John  Sayles  roused  up,  helped  to  unharness  and 
hobble,  and  crawled  sleepily  back  to  bed.  At  the  first 
streak  of  dawn  they  pushed  on  again  through  end- 
less undulations  of  sandhills,  horse-high  with  gray- 
green  and  spicy  sagebbrush. 

The  swift  daylight  grew;  and  John  Sayles  was 
something  disconcerted  to  find  that  La  Fantasia  was 


78  WEST  IS  WEST 

no  further  away  than  at  sunset,  while  the  Malibu  was 
no  nearer.  There  was  only  one  proof  of  progress; 
that  thin  gray  streak  was  wider  now,  dead  ahead  and 
clear-seen  in  the  cool  light  of  morning.  Red  sunrise 
brought  them  to  it ;  a  dead  lowland  of  crumbling  and 
rotten  soil,  starved  and  poisoned,  leprous,  blotched 
with  alkali,  without  grass,  without  vegetation  save 
for  a  morbid,  fleshy  and  hateful  jelly-growth  known 
as  Dead  Man's  Hand:  leafless,  flowerless,  without 
even  thorn  or  spine  to  the  gnarled  and  crippled  fin- 
gers. 

They  crossed  a  dry  lake-bed  crusted  inch-deep  with 
sparkling  crystals  of  salt ;  they  crossed  the  resonant 
and  resilient  bed  of  a  dry  soda-lake,  spirit-level 
smooth;  they  climbed  a  sudden  bench  and  came  out 
on  a  fair  and  wholesome  plain  checkered  with  green 
patches  of  tall,  thrifty  salt  grass  and  broad  levels  of 
bare  ground,  white  and  sunglazed.  This  was  good 
going ;  unbidden,  the  ponies  took  up  their  brisk  jog- 
trot ;  nine  brought  them  to  a  soapweed  country  and 
black  grama.  They  were  now  on  the  upgrade  and 
climbing  toward  Malibu.  They  made  camp  for  noon- 
ing at  the  first  clump  of  soapweeds  big  enough  to 
afford  a  slender  shade  for  the  ponies. 

Water  from  the  oaken  tank  for  the  eager  horses, 
a  thankful  roll,  corn  in  the  nosebags,  then  hobbles 
and  a  close  cropped  swath  of  black-grama ;  fire  and 
a  marvelous  breakfast  in  the  shade  of  the  wagon; 
silence  and  sleep. 

John  Sayles  woke  in  mid-afternoon.  Pinto  and 
Paint  dozed  sociably  under  the  soapweed  clump. 
Emil  James,  curled  up  on  the  front  seat,  smoked  a 


MALIBU  FLAT  79 

meditative  pipe.  John  Sayles  raised  a  curtain  and 
stared  hard  at  La  Fantasia.  Then  he  turned  his 
head  and  stared  at  Malibu. 

Emil  tapped  out  his  pipe  and  nodded  approval. 
"Correct!"  he  said.  "Ain't  it  the  truth?  Right 
smart  of  a  universe  and  very  little  of  us.  That  is 
about  the  proper  proportion.  This  is  no  place  for 
delusions  of  grandeur."  He  reached  for  his  boots. 
"I'll  stir  up  dinner.  You  water  and  feed  the  horses 
and  harness  up.  We're  due  at  Bed  Mesa  by  dark." 

"Why  we're  only  halfway  across,"  said  John 
Sayles.  "At  least,  so  it  seems,"  he  added  hastily. 

"Seems  is  right,"  said  Emil.  "But  we're  out  of 
the  Seem- So  country  now  and  up  on  a  real  place — 
with  four-fifths  of  the  way  behind  us — maybe  two- 
thirds.  Them  lowlands  was  the  mirage  country — the 
Never-Never  country.  You  want  to  make  the  trip 
by  daylight  some  time.  You'll  be  surprised  at  the 
things  you  see — lakes  that  aren't  there,  herds  of 
cattle,  the  Witch  Hills,  and  a  long,  long  yellow  town 
that  the  Welshmen  claim  is  one  of  theirs — all  sorts  of 
things.  Sometimes  there's  a  grove  of  palm  trees  by 
the  lakes,  and  once  I'm  pretty  near  sure  I  almost  saw 
a  drove  of  camels.  Not  to  mention  things  that  are 
really  there,  that  you  missed  last  night — Cactus 
Flats  and  the  greasewood  country." 

"See  here,  how  wide  is  this  flat  that  isn't  flat,  any- 
way?" demanded  John  Sayles  indignantly.  "They 
told  me  in  town  it  was  forty  miles." 

"It  is  forty  miles — straight  across  to  Malibu 
Knob,  where  Keough  had  his  mine  explosion  the  day 
before  you  arrived.  That's  the  way  the  cattle  come 
from  the  San  Quentin  country,  the  Morgans  and  that 


80  WEST  IS  WEST 

bunch — when  they  don't  ship  from  Magdalena.  Our 
trip  is  seventy  miles.  We  didn't  come  straight 
across.  We  came  slantwise ;  our  road  went  too  far 
north  to  water  at  the  stage-station,  and  then  had  to 
tack  back.  Also,  and  likewise,  the  desert  has  another 
surprise  for  you  yet — even  in  the  really-truly  part 
of  it." 

"And  all  this  country,  clear  to  Ridgepole,  is  the 
V  cross  T  Range?" 

"Well,  no — not  all  of  it.  Old  man  Gibson  runs  his 
own  wagon  from  Pinetop  north  and  west,  and  out  this 
way  as  far  as  the  poison  sink  we  crossed  this  morn- 
ing. Where  we  are  now  is  the  border  of  the  Fuentes 
country;  they  use  the  grass  north  from  this  road  to 
the  N  8  range.  South  of  here,  the  Morgans  claim  the 
east  side  of  the  Malibu ;  they  have  crowded  over  from 
the  San  Quentin  Plains,  them  and  the  Wyandottes. 
But  all  the  rest  is  V  Cross  T  country,  with,  of  course, 
all  us  little  cowmen  scattered  round-about.  Good 
outfit ;  we  get  along  fine  together. ' ' 

' '  They  tell  me  that  the  Morgans  are  not  a  good  out- 
fit, but  a  very  bad  outfit, ' '  said  John  Sayles.  ' '  They 
say  the  Morgans  and  this  man  Webb  ambushed  and 
killed  Clay  Mundy  a  few  years  back,  because  they 
wanted  his  ranches ;  and  that  they  murdered  another 
man,  at  the  same  time,  a  stranger  who  happened  to 
be  with  Mundy.  Seem  to  be  a  thorough  people,  the 
Morgans.  But  others  told  me  that  the  stranger, 
MacGregor,  was  a  hired  killer  that  the  Morgans 
employed  to  murder  Mundy,  and  that  MacGregor 
got  himself  killed  in  the  routine  of  business." 

"Son,"  said  Emil  gravely,  "the  safe  plan  to  use 
in  dealin'  with  any  rumor  about  old  feuds  and  wars 


MALIBU  FLAT  81 

is  not  to  believe  all  you  hear.  You  needn't  disbelieve 
it;  just  don't  believe  it.  One  of  the  wisest  ways 
I  know  of  to  put  in  a  pleasant  afternoon  is  not  re- 
peating town  talk  about  the  Morgans.  And  this  tale 
is  precisely  the  one  they  enjoy  least.  They  had  a 
long,  hard  fight  with  Mundy,  and  they  held  the  Mun- 
dy  empire  when  he  was  killed;  but  they  don't  run  to 
ambush  much,  the  Morgans. ' ' 

"I  didn't  know  the  Morgans  were  friends  of 
yours,"  said  the  boy. 

"Well,  you  got  nothing  on  them — they  don't  know 
it  either.  So  long  as  I've  said  this  much,  I'll  say  a 
little  more :  The  Morgans  are  even  less  likely  to  hire 
murder  done  than  to  kill  from  ambush.  No  one 
knows  exactly  what  happened  when  Clay  Mundy 
died.  It  was  the  year  of  the  big  rains — either  five 
years  ago  or  four,  I  don't  just  remember  which.  Be- 
fore the  bodies  were  found,  a  shower  came  up  and 
washed  out  all  the  sign. ' ' 

"Sign?"  echoed  John  Sayles.  "I  don't  under- 
stand. ' ' 

* '  Tracks.  With  no  rain,  the  tracks  would  have  just 
about  told  the  story.  One  thing  is  sure :  There  was 
no  question  of  ambush ;  it  was  a  clear  plain.  I  have 
seen  the  place. 

"Another  thing:  The  man  MacGregor  worked  for 
Mundy.  He  was  a  pretty  tough  nut,  MacGregor. 
I've  hunted  up  his  record;  it  is  certain  that  he  was 
never  the  kind  to  betray  the  man  who  trusted  him. 

"There  were  three  guns  found.  Whether  Mac- 
Gregor died  fighting  Mundy,  or  fighting  at  Mundy 's 
side  in  a  pitched  battle  against  the  Morgans —  I  reck- 
on that  will  never  be  known.  The  Morgans  have 


82  WEST  IS  WEST 

told  no  story — and  nobody  has  thought  to  question 
them. 

* '  Here  is  how  I  size  it  up :  There  was  no  ambush ; 
the  Morgans  fight  fair;    If  there  had  been  a  show- 
down fight,  the  Morgans  would  have  told  their  side. 
Why  not?    It  is  my  idea  that  Mundy  and  MacGregor , 
had  a  difference  of  opinion. — Let's  go!" 

An  hour  brought  them  to  that  far-seen  slope  of 
yesterday.  It  took  shape  now  as  a  slope  of  mesquite 
hummocks,  and  it  was  not  brown  at  all,  but  a  name- 
less, indescribable  shimmer,  an  undulating  sheen  like 
rye  fields  in  the  wind.  For  the  long,  drooping,  fern- 
like  leaves  were  two  shades  of  green ;  the  top  or  out- 
side was  a  solid  color,  nearer  brown  than  green, 
which  seemed  to  soak  up  the  sun  and  hoard  it;  the 
reverse  side  was  an  unsubstantial  light  green  which 
shook  off  the  sun.  So  slender  were  those  drooping 
and  delicate  leaves  that  the  shadow  they  cast  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  veil :  the  solid,  dark  mahogany 
color  of  trunk  and  brown  branches  and  brown  stems 
and  brown  twigs  persisted  through  the  gauzy  green 
that  quivered  and  shook  and  turned  and  trembled 
to  shimmering  change  with  each  slightest  breeze, 
with  ever  the  constant  brown  bark  tinting  through. 

They  wound  up  and  up  through  the  hummocks. 
Malibu  was  nearer  now,  and  losing  its  blueness.  Ev- 
ery mile  some  new  feature,  shoulder  or  slope,  cliff 
or  cafion  cleft,  broke  through  that  blue  haze,  took 
shape  and  clearness — and  shadows. 

The  long  mesquite  slope  was  topped  at  last ;  they 
came  to  a  wide  flat  shelf  of  tableland  with  a  step 


MALIBU  FLAT  83 

beyond;  mounted  that  step  to  another  level  bench, 
and  came  at  last  to  the  promised  surprise. 

"Good  Lord!"  gasped  Sayles.  "And  I  thought 
these  mountains  were  a  straight  wall." 

The  Malibu  was  suddenly  very  near :  on  the  closer 
slopes  tufts  and  puff-balls  of  dark  green  leaped  up 
and  became  cedars.  And  the  Malibu  was  west  no 
longer,  but  south;  Hueco  was  west  no  longer,  nor 
purple,  but  grim  against  the  northern  sky.  And 
where  was  Red  Mesa,  that  had  made  a  straight  line 
with  these  two  ? 

While  they  were  busy  climbing  the  last  stair,  Bed 
Mesa  had  fled  away  into  the  west.  The  plain  flowed 
on  between  Malibu  and  Hueco  in  a  deep  bay ;  a  semi- 
circular Red  Mesa  made  a  far-curving  shore  for  it; 
an  unbroken  wall  of  red  cliffs,  bristling  with  head- 
land and  promonotory  but  with  no  visible  passway 
in  all  the  long  dim  west. 

"There's  the  N-8  ranch,  in  the  south  gable  of  the 
Hueco.  And  here's  where  we're  going  to-night — 
straight  ahead,"  said  Emil  James,  pointing.  "You're 
nearly  as  close  to  the  N  8  now  as  you  will  be  at 
dark." 

"Where  are  we  going,  then?" 

"Barnaby  Bright,"  said  Emil. 

"What's  that — town,  ranch,  or  mine?" 

"Something  else.  It's  a  pass  through  the  Red 
Mesa.  It  is  the  pass  through  Red  Mesa." 

"I  don't  see  any  sign  of  a  pass,"  said  John. 

"You  don't,  and  you  won't.  You  can  hardly  see 
it  when  you're  right  at  it.  It's  just  a  crack  in  the 
rock — a  crack  with  straight-up-and-down  walls  from 
fif tv  to  three  hundred  feet  high.  A  zig-zag  crack  two 


84  WEST  IS  WEST 

miles  long  and  averagin'  twenty  feet  wide  —  just 
room  enough  for  two  wagons  to  pass.  Curious  place ! 
Little  crevice  goes  straight  into  the  rock,  maybe 
two  hundred  yards ;  looks  like  that 's  all  there  is  to 
it.  All  at  once  there's  an  elbow — so  sharp  a  wagon 
can  hardly  make  the  turn — more  than  a  right  angle. 
Then  it  goes  north  nearly  half  a  mile,  makes  another 
bend,  and  wanders  west  for  a  mile  and  a  half,  up  to 
the  divide  and  open  country.  Splits  the  rock  like 
you'd  split  a  knot  with  an  axe.  But  there's  no  other 
way  across  the  range  for  a  lifetime 'each  way — not 
for  a  wagon.  And  there's  no  other  way  across  Bed 
Mesa  itself,  even  for  a  pack  outfit.  Red  Mesa  joins 
the  Hueco  and  Malibu  without  crevice  or  seam — 
just  keeps  on  going  under  the  mountain.  I  reckon 
maybe  Red  Mesa  is  the  end  of  the  crowbar  that  pried 
the  mountains  up." 

"What  is  it— all  one  solid  cliff?" 

"One  solid  cliff  all  the  way  except  for  the  crack 
at  Barnaby  Bright.  It's  forty  miles  straight  across 
from  Malibu  to  Hueco  and  the  Mesa  makes  maybe  a 
fifteen  mile  dip  to  the  west  and  back  again. ' ' 

"What  kind  of  people  live  at  this  Barnaby  place?" 

"Nobody  lives  there.  Just  a  little  creek  that  runs 
out  of  the  rock.  Nobody  lives  closer  than  Fuentes, 
ten  miles  north.  Creek  belongs  to  the  Fuentes  clan 
any  time  this  last  two  hundred  years  and  more,  but 
they  live  in  their  own  town.  You  can't  see  Fuentes 
from  here;  it's  in  a  sheltered  valley,  behind  one  of 
them  little  capes." 

"Do  we  go  there  to-night?" 

"Nope.  We  water  at  the  creek  and  slip  out  a  little 
ways  to  grass.  Cattle  have  got  it  pretty  well  eaten 


8S 

off  next  to  the  water.    We  can  loiter  along  to  Fuen- 
tes  in  the  morning. ' ' 

"I'd  like  to  see  that  crack  in  the  rock.  It  must  be 
a  strange  place. ' ' 

"Well,  you  can.  It  was  made  on  purpose  to  look 
at,  I  reckon — and. to  use.  We'll  go  see  manana — rise 
with  the  lark,  or  birds  to  that  effect.  We  can  walk 
back  while  the  ponies  take  a  little  extra  rest — or  we 
can  fork  the  ponies,  bareback,  and  give  'em  another 
drink.  No  hurry.  It's  worth  seeing,  Barnaby 
Bright  is." 

* '  So  this  was  that  surprise  of  yours — this  big  bend 
in  the  mountains!"  said  John  Sayles.  "Well,  it 
surprises  me,  all  right.  These  mountains  are  not 
dependable. ' ' 

"They  are  not,"  said  Emil.  "But  I  like  it  better 
where  the  mountains  run  every  whicn-a-way,  like 
this.  And  I  like  the  mirage  country,  too.  When 
you're  not  sure  whether  you  really  see  something  or 
just  think  you  see  it,  you're  apt  to  be  pretty  tolerant 
about  things  you  haven't  seen — things  somebody 
said  they  was  told  somebody  saw  once.  That  saves 
trouble.  Nobody  gets  excited  over  things  they  real- 
ly know.  It  is  the  things  that  nobody  knows  any- 
thing about  that  people  fight  over.  That's  the  beauty 
of  the  Seem-So  country.  When  even  the  mountains 
don't  stay  put,  it's  hard  to  be  bigoty.  You  get  in 
firm  in  your  old  thick  head  that  you  might  be  maybe 
mistaken  about  most  anything." 

"But  those  mountains  by  Albuquerque,  the  Sandi- 
as  and  Manzanos — surely  they  were  straight?" 

"Yes,"  said  Emil.  "East  of  the  river,  the  hills 
run  pretty  regular  in  their  habits.  I  used  to  live  over 


86  WEST  IS  WEST 

there  once — farther  south,  in  the  big  valley  between 
the  Front  Range  and  the  San  Andres. 

1  i  Well,  it  was  amusing.  The  general  trend  of  the 
Front  Range  —  the  Gauadalupe- Sacramento- White 
Mountain-Capitan  system — was  from  the  southeast 
to  the  northwest,  or  thereabouts.  On  the  west  side 
the  Organ-San  Andres-Oscura  combination — that's 
the  same  range  as  your  Sandias  at  Albuquerque,  only 
with  different  names — why,  they  edged  just  the  other 
way  a  little.  So  a  man  from  the  east  side  held  mighty 
steadfast  to  the  theory  that  northwest  was  north, 
or,  at  the  most  liberal  view,  that  north  north-west 
was  north.  They  squared  their  convictions  with  the 
biggest  solid  fact  at  hand,  you  see ;  and  them  moun- 
tains was  plenty  incontrovertible. 

"  Just  as  reasonably,  the  west  side  man  emotional- 
ly observed  northeast  as  north,  or  north-northeast 
if  he  was  broadminded:  the  San  Andres  was  also 
what  you  might  call  permanent  and  tangible. 

"Well,  when  these  people  met  each  other  in  the 
middle  of  the  plain,  they  was  all  at  right  angles  and 
cross-purposes.  It  was  right  comical.  Oh,  they 
liked  each  other  well  enough,  and  got  along,  some- 
how. But  they  couldn't  have  any  real  respect  for 
any  one  holdin'  such  barbarous  creeds. 

"The  east  side  was  purposely  and  conscientiously 
and  resolutely  right,  and  knew  it  durned  well :  how 
could  a  stubborn  west  side,  which  was  purposely  and 
willfully  and  knowingly  wrong  about  so  simple  and 
easy  a  matter  as  north  and  south,  have  any  worth 
while  opinions  on  other  subjects?  This  amused  me 
all  the  more,"  said  Emil,  "because,  where  I  lived, 
the  mountains  run  due  north  and  south. ' ' 


MALIBU  FLAT  87 

Bands  of  cattle  grew  more  frequent.  The  red 
shore  wavered  nearer  and  nearer;  in  the  cliff  the 
black  line  that  was  their  goal  became  a  deep  black 
gash.  In  the  long  shade  of  that  great  red  wall,  as 
sunset  flamed  and  faded,  they  toiled  up  a  sloping 
triangle  of  parked  cedar  to  a  delta  of  willow  and 
ash,  where  a  trickle  of  water  tinkled  over  rocky 
ledges  of  a  little  gravelly  wash.  A  hundred  yards 
away,  the  deep  notch  of  the  pass  showed  brokenly 
and  dim  between  the  tree-trunks. 

John  Sayles  unhitched  Paint  and  Pinto,  and  led 
them  up  stream  to  a  pool.  Emil  was  filling  his  water 
tank,  when  John  Sayles  gave  a  startled  exclamation. 

"What's  that?"  He  pointed  at  the  near  and  nar- 
row pass. 

"What's  what?"  answered  Emil  placidly. 

"I  didn't  believe  it  at  first — I  thought  it  was  my 
eyes,  or  some  trick  of  shadows  and  twilight.  But 
it's  a  house!"  cried  John  Sayles.  "It's  a  house 
built  all  the  way  across  the  pass — built  into  the  cliff 
walls!  And  the  wagon  road  runs  square  through 
the  house  I ' 7 

"That  is  no  house,"  said  Emil.  "It's  a  church—* 
the  Church  of  Barnaby  Bright." 


CHAPTER  IV 

BABNABY  BRIGHT 

OP  the  visitors  to  this  planet  three  centuries  ago 
were  two  men  who  were  half  a  lifetime  apart  and 
half  a  world;  a  Catalan  and  a  Spaniard  of  Peru. 
They  met  once  only,  in  Santa  Fe  of  New  Mexico, 
City  Royal  of  the  Holy  Faith  of  Saint  Francis ;  and 
that  hour  changed  the  tale  of  history. 

The  world  was  Spam's  when  blue-eyed  Baltazar 
Fuentes  was  born  in  an  old  gray  town,  close  nipped 
between  the  Pyrenees  and  the  tideless  midland  sea; 
Cadaquez,  in  Catalonia.  The  Second  Philip  was 
yet  king. 

At  fifteen  years,  the  manling  Fuentes  went  down 
to  the  lowlands,  seeking  fortune.  Barcelona  knew 
him  for  a  space,  and  Tortosa.  There  were  sea-ven- 
tures befitting  a  Catalan.  Then  he  turned  inland, 
followed  the  Ebro  to  Zaragoza,  found  fortune  there 
and  friends,  and  good  repute,  won  him  a  fair  young 
wife  from  the  strong  family  of  Caldas.  So  peace 
and  love  and  home  and  pleasant  years  were  Balta- 
zar's1;  one  strong  son  at  last  to  crown  his  joy.  The 
Third  Philip  died,  and  the  Fourth  took  the  crown ; 
Olivarez  the  favorite  ruled  Spain,  and  Spain  the 
world. 

The  world  was  breaking  free  when  Baltazar  fled 
from  walled  Zaragoza,  with  a  king's  wrath  at  his 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  89 

back.  His  wife  rode  by  his  side,  loyal  and  brave ;  he 
carried  before  him  in  the  saddle  Timoteo,  their  son. 
Behind  him  in  the  cool,  sweet  dawn,  something  hud- 
dled and  lay  still  in  a  pleasant  glade  by  Zaragoza 
wall ;  something  which  of  late  had  been  a  man,  alive 
and  breathing,  arrogant  and  daring :  the  young  Mar- 
quis of  Calahorra,  "fortunate  Calahorra,"  darling 
of  the  court,  right  hand  of  the  king's  favorite.  There 
had  been  a  sneering  word,  glancing  at  Baltazar 's 
young  wife ;  swords ;  this. 

The  blood  hate  of  Olivarez  clung  close  upon  their 
track.  They  fled  westward,  through  Soria,  Segovia, 
Valladolid,  haunted  Zamora,  Orense;  took  ship  at 
Vigo ;  to  see  gray  Cadaquez  no  more,  or  green  valley 
of  the  Ebro. 

Their  sail  was  yet  white  in  the  sea-road  when  a 
Weary  troop  drew  rein  upon  the  whispering  shore, 
and  a  cadet  of  Calahorra,  his  horse-hoofs  in  the  foam 
and  the  flung  spume  salt  upon  his  cheek,  stared  down 
the  sun-lane  to  the  west  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  un- 
conquered  sea.  The  sad  mists  rose,  and  night,  and 
blotted  out  the  sail. 

Spain  knew  those  fugitives  no  more.  The  new 
world  swallowed  them  up.  Olivarez  fell  in  1643.  On 
a  later  year,  when  news  of  that  fall  came  slowly  to 
him,  Fuentes  came  from  the  silent  places  of  his  hid- 
ing and  took  house  in  the  city  of  Mexico.  That  brave 
wife  was  dead ;  Baltazar  was  a  silent  man,  grave  and 
thoughtful ;  turned  fifty  now.  The  boy  Timoteo  be- 
came man  in  the  city,  married  there,  died  there ;  leav- 
ing two  younsr  sons. 

Baltazar  Fuentes  became  a  Franciscan,  "Of  the 
Strict  Observance."  When  he  was  sent  out  to  the 


9o  WEST  IS  WEST 

northern  marches  to  serve  his  order,  Fuentes  had 
talk  with  the  mate  of  his  dead  son,  and  took  with 
him  into  the  north  his  youngest  grandson,  another 
Timeteo ;  the  year  1556  brought  him  to  santa  Fe :  De 
Mendizaval  was  Governor  and  Captain-General  of 
New  Mexico. 

The  man  I  am  to  speak  of  now  was  born  to  splen- 
dor, apprenticed  to  greatness.  Lima  was  his  birth- 
place, 1624  the  year. 

Don  Diego  Dionisio  de  Pefialosa  was  descended 
from  the  famous  houses  of  Pefialosa  and  Bricefia, 
Ocampo,  Verdugo  and  Cordova;  by  the  mother's 
side,  from  Davila,  Arias  de  Anaya,  Valdivia,  Cabre- 
ra, and  Bobadilla.  He  was  close  and  doubly  kin  to 
the  Dukes  of  Sessa  and  Escalona,  the  Counts  of  Pier- 
to  en  Bostro  and  to  the  Marquises  of  Maya ;  his  wife 
was  grand-daughter  to  Fernan  Cortez,  "the  ever 
victorious. ' ' 

We  smile  at  this  Hidalgo,  "Son  of  Someone."  But 
if  we  knew  any  man  from  our  own  stock  clear  in  de- 
scent at  once  from  Percy  and  Neville,  Douglas  and 
Graeme,  Clifford  and  Talbot,  Sidney,  Raleigh  and 
Drake,  Howard  and  Gordon  and  Glendower,  Clive, 
Hastings,  Charnock  and  Wolfe — we  would  not  smile. 
I  Don  Diego  became  early  a  man  of  mark.  Family 
gave  him  opportunity;  he  used  it  greatly.  For  the 
man  himself,  he  was  in  no  way  lacking ;  no  unworthy 
"great-grandson  of  the  three  greatest  knights";  a 
swift,  alert  man,  fiery-daring,  hardy,  resolute,  adroit, 
indomitable — and  fortunate.  He  had  need  for  the 
last  two  qualities;  his  ventures  ranged  through  five 
thousand  miles  of  hardship,  toil  and  danger;  brilli- 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  91 

ant  and  skillful  soldier,  wise  and  shifty  administra- 
tor. One  great  and  rarest  virtue  was  his,  a  kindly 
tolerant,  sympathetic  patience  with  inferiors  and 
with  the  copper  children  of  the  new  world ;  one  rank 
vice,  an  overgrown  pride  in  his  dealings  with  those 
of  his  own  kidney;  arrogant  and  stiffnecked  pride, 
fiery,  violent  and  overbearing. 

A  youth  of  war,  pathmaking,  building;  this  was 
a  man  in  love  with  joy,  and  one  who  loved  better  to 
build  than  to  war,  and  the  long  road  more  than  ei- 
ther:  "Lord  of  the  cities  of  Gaurina  and  Farara,  and 
of  its  eleven  towns:  Fendatory  Commendatory 
Knight  of  the  City  of  La  Paz,  and  Perpetual  Begidor 
therein,  and  in  the  Five  Provinces  of  its  District : — 
.  .  .  making  his  house  more  illustrious  by  his  sword 
with  titles  of  Marquis  and  Count  of  fair  cities  which 
he  has  founded  from  the  cornerstones."  His  list 
of  titles  may  yet  be  found,  poor  Peftalosa,  Briscena 
y  Verdugo,  Ocampo  y  Valdivia:  a  double  triangle 
worthy  of  an  emperor;  "Count  of  Valdivia  in  Chile, 
Viscount  of  La  Ymperial,  Marquis  of  Aranco  and  of 
Oristan,  Governor  and  Captain-general  of  New 
Mexico,  Adelantado  (First-Man,  Foregoer)  of  Chile 
and  of  the  Gran  Quivira  in  the  west  of  this  New 
World  of  America" — Dust  that  was  Diego,  how  deep 
you  drank  of  life ! 

A  marked  man;  it  was  whispered,  echoed  in  new 
world  corridors  that  here  was  one  fitted  to  carry  on 
the  great  traditions  of  the  Conquistador es.  But  our 
Diego  took  one  wrong  turning,  at  an  unconsidered 
milestone;  became  tacit  partisan  of  St.  Francis 
against  St.  Dominic ;  and  met  his  first  set-back  when 
he  quarreled  with  the  brother  of  the  Count  of  Salva- 


92  WEST  IS  WEST 

tierra,  Viceroy  of  Peru :  quarrel  patched-up  to  peace 
by  authority ;  smoldering. 

Because  this  quarrel  and  his  desire  of  seeing 
Spain,  Peiialosa  embarked  at  Calloa  in  1G52.  The 
ship  foundered  within  sight  of  Payta  Port ;  Don  Die- 
go lost  forty  thousand  crowns  thereby,  saving  some 
twelve  thousand  in  pearls  and  precious  stones.  He 
proceeded  to  Panama ;  promptly  found  an  uncle,  Don 
Alonzo  Brisefia,  Bishop  of  Nicaragua;  visited  him. 
From  here,  after  another  shipwreck,  he  went  to  Mex- 
ico, capital  of  New  Spain,  where  he  waited  news 
and  money  from  Peru.  _ 

Albuquerque  was  Viceroy  of  New  Spain;  dusky- 
brilliant  Penalosa  pleased  him  well;  found  employ- 
ment. He  led  reinforcements  to  Montalegre,  hold- 
ing Vera  Cruz  against  Cromwell's  fleet  of  sixty-eight 
men-of-war.  The  fleet  captured  Jamaica  for  Eng- 
land ;  Penalosa  bore  himself  well  in  that  losing  fight ; 
was  sent  posthaste  to  perilled  Havana  with  his  seas- 
oned infantry :  married  there  the  grand-daughter  of 
Cortez.  On  his  return,  high  in  favor,  he  became  gov- 
ernor of  Xiquilpa,  of  Chilcota,  Lieutenant-General 
in  those  provinces.  ,- 

The  Duke  of  Albuquerque  passed,  the  Marquis- 
Count  of  Baiios  succeeded.  —  "  Great  , complaints 
were  made  to  him  against  Don  Bernardo  Lopez  de 
Mendizaval,  Governor  of  New  Mexico,  whose  great- 
est fault  was  the  falling  out  with  inquisitors  and  their 
partisans.  Nevertheless,  he  was  recalled  and  the 
Count  of  Penalosa  was  selected  to  command  in  his 
stead  and  to  appease  the  troubles  ordinary  to  that 
country." — This  was  the  hour  of  his  desire:  New 
Mexico  was  on  the  very  marches  and  bounds  of  em- 


MALIBU  FLAT  93 

pire;  he  would  follow  the  path  of  Cabega  de  Vaca, 
Coronado,  Espejo,  Juan  de  Oiiate :  outgo  them.  He 
received  his  commission  as  Governor  and  Captain- 
General  at  close  of  the  year  1660,  and  set  forth  at 
once.  Yet  he  made  no  speed  of  that  journey;  lin- 
gered in  Zacatecas  for  two  months,  another  in  Par- 
ral.  Our  Diego  was  Dionysius  too;  there  is  an  off- 
shoot house  of  Pefialosa  in  Zacatecas  to  this  day, 
claiming  decsent  from  him. 

Now  all  things  prospered  to  Pefialosa 's  hand.  * '  He 
defeated  the  hostile  Indians  called  Apaches  and  com- 
pelled them  to  sue  for  peace.  He  founded  two  new 
cities,  erected  several  public  buildings  and  discovered 
new  countries."  He  proved  and  armed  his  dorados, 
— Golden  Ones — "a  very  brilliant  company  of  eighty 
Spaniards,  among  whom  were  some  foreigners  mar- 
ried in  these  parts,"  and  he  established  the  first 
American  press-agent,  "  Father  Friar  Nicholas  de 
Freytas,  of  the  Order  of  St.  Francis,  Preacher,  Com- 
misary  Visitor  of  the  Third  Order,  and  Guardian  of 
the  Convent  of  San  Yldefonso  in  this  kingdom,  and 
Chaplain  to  His  Most  Illustrious  Lordship." 

Freytas  it  was  who  wrote  the  "  vague,  bombastic 
and  curious"  account  of  the  discovery  by  Pefialosa, 
in  1662,  of  the  * l  City  and  country  of  Quivira. "  '  *  So 
glorious  an  enterprise,  giving  treasures  to  the  crown 
of  Spain  to  dominate  the  globe,  for  the  Glory  of  God, 
in  whose  mighty  hand  are  all  things  past,  present, 
and  to  come,  and  of  His  Blessed  Mother,  the  Virgin 
Mary,  Our  Lady,  conceived  without  stain  of  original 
sin." 

Those  statistics  are  mixed.  If  you  read  that  sen- 
tence carefully,  you  will  get  some  hint  of  the  con- 


94  WEST  IS  WEST 

fused  whirling  mind  of  Nicolas  de  Freytas — who  was 
author  also  of  a  ''Memorial  of  the  Sefior  Adelanta- 
do,"  designed  for  the  eye  of  Spanish  Majesty;  and 
of  a  sufficiently  naive  " Account"  of  a  previous  ex- 
pedition of  Saldivar  in  1618  to  the  far  lands  "  fifteen, 
days  beyond  the  last  of  Moq"  (Moqui)  to  the  River 
of  Good  Hope,  or  del  Tison — (Gila) :  wherein,  on 
their  turning  back,  one  Father  Friar  Lazaras  cried 
out  "in  a  loud  voice  with  wonderful  grief",  an  elo- 
quent eulogy  of  our  Don  Diego  Dionisio  de  Pefialosa, 
and  a  judicious  recital  of  his  merits;  although,  at 
that  time,  our  Diego  would  not  be  born  for  six  years 
to  come.    This  prenatal  circumstance  lends  a  saffron 
touch  to  the  "Account",  deepened  by  a  broad  hint 
near  the  end  that  the  unborn  Pefialosa  "aspires  to 
that  (title)  of  Duke  to  become  as  illustrious  of  him- 
self as  the  most  excellent  of  his  glorious  progenitors, 
to  whose  titles  of  Marquis,  Count  and  Viscount  he  is 
lawful  heir,  as  of  their  zeal  in  honoring  and  patroniz- 
ing our  Seraphic  order,  as  so  Christian  a  knight  and 
our  Brother  by  Letters  Patent". 

The  story  trusts  that  the  passage  is  sufficiently 
clear.  Or  the  final  paragraph  of  the  "Note"  to  the 
"Account." 

"May  our  Lord  in  His  infinite  mercy  grant  that 
our  Governor  and  Captain-General  may  by  his  valor 
and  skill  remove  all  the  difficulties  raised  by  those 
who  are  not  accustomed  to  overcome  the  impossible, 
as  his  Lordship  is,  for  whom  Divine  Providence  has 
reserved  it  in  its  secret  bosom  from  all  time." 

The  Freytas  record  of  the  journey  "through  the 
country  of  the  Escanxaques  to  the  large  river  which 
they  call  Mischipi"  is  fearfully  and  wonderfully 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  95 

made.  Nevertheless,  it  seems  probable  that  Pefialosa 
reached  the  Missouri  near  where  Omaha  now  stands ; 
certain  that  he  marched  from  Santa  Fe  three  months 
northeast  into  the  buffalo  country.  The  description 
of  rivers,  soil,  vegetation,  fish,  animals,  are  circum- 
stantial and  tally  exactly  to  the  last  detail  with  our 
knowledge,  bird  and  flower,  shrub  and  tree ;  even  to 
the  Indian's  proverb  "To  ten  Hiroquees  four  of  the 
Tuft,  and  to  these  two  of  the  Escanxaques  and  to 
ten  Escanxaques  one  Apache."  Also  the  sons  of 
Pefialosa 's  dorados  live  in  New  Mexico  today,  Duran 
and  Chavez,  Lucero  and  Godoy:  their  twilight  tales 
keep  him  Foregoer  yet,  hold  him  last  of  the  Con- 
quistadores. 

Shifty-fortunate  Pefialosa  brought  his  dorados 
safely  back  to  Santa  Fe,  not  one  lost  on  that  long 
expedition,  to  "Quivira" — Quebira,  Great  Land;  he 
dreamed  of  map-making  and  Dukeships.  There  wTas 
also  a  sweet  woman-child,  born  in  Santa  Fe  at  about 
this  time,  born  to  his  love  but  not  to  his  name,  of 
whom  he  had  much  pride  and  joy. — The  grand- 
daughter of  Cortez  had  died  young,  and  before  Zaca- 
tecas. 

Then,  upon  a  day,  planning  new  exploits,  dream- 
ing great  things,  Pefialosa  looked  forth  from  his  win- 
dow in  the  Adobe  Palace  and  saw  in  the  courtyard; 
a  gray  friar,  unknown  to  him;  who  shook  a  chiding, 
finger  at  a  young  Indian  boy,  and,  as  Diego  gathered, 
admonished  him  for  some  boyish  failing.     The  boy 
was  Pope,  a  lad  of  the  Teguas ;  the  friar  was  Father 
Baltazar  Fuentes. 

On  the  heels  of  this  there  was  a  prodigious  tumult 
in  the  guard  room:  black-gowned  Huelva  stormed 


96  WEST  IS  WEST 

in  upon  Don  Diego ;  dark  Huelva,  Commissary-Gen- 
eral of  the  Inquisition ;  herding  before  him  gray  friar 
and  Indian  boy  of  the  courtyard,  and  Father  Michael 
Guevera,  Guardian  of  the  Convent  of  Santa  Fe.  Hu- 
elva was  flaming,  Guevera  cowed ;  the  lad  stolid ;  the 
stranger  friar  unfluttered,  eyes  downcast,  quiet.  Hu- 
elva's  words  came  in  a  torrent. 

1  'Things  go  from  bad  to  worse  here,  there  is  no 
discipline,  no  order ;  the  spread  of  our  holy  religion 
is  neglected,  while  we  give  ourselves  to  idleness  and 
music,  picture-making,  joyance,  and  all  disorder. 
Here  is  heathen  idolatry  flourishing  in  your  capital, 
tolerated.  Punishment  for  the  offenders !  I  demand 
instant  justice ! ' ' 

Pefialosa  dandled  his  child.  "  Disorder  is  indeed 
rife,  Holy  Father",  he  said.  "That  is  best  proven 
by  yourself.  I  think  Your  Paternity  takes  a  strange 
way  of  seeking  order,  when  you  so  far  forget  your 
station  and  mine  that  you  break  unannounced  and 
blustering  upon  your  Governor,  more  like  a  tipsy 
soldier  reeling  to  barracks  than  one  headman  seek- 
ing counsel  with  another  for  the  good  of  the  state. 
If  you  have  cause  of  complaint  against  these  three, 
set  it  forth  in  clear  words.  I  will  see  justice  done." 

Huelva  quivered.  He  sought  to  control  himself. 
Three  words  or  four  he  spoke  calmly;  then  hate 
seized  him,  he  shook  with  that  passion.  "Lashes  for 
this  red  child  of  hell! — Lashes  once  and  again  for 
this  faithless  Priest !  Penance ' ' — he  whirled  on  Gue- 
vera— "penance  and  discipline  for  the  slothful 
shepherd ! ' ' 

"Now,  that  may  very  well  be,"  said  Pefialosa, 
arching  his  silken  brows.  ' '  But  I  must  remind  Your 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  97 

Paternity  that  it  is  the  custom  of  all  lands  to  know 
and  name  the  crime  before  sentence  is  meted;  and, 
in  this  new  world  at  least,  we  sometimes  require 
proof  to  the  accusation.  Again,  if  I  may  point  it 
out,  it  is  the,  part  of  the  accuser  to  bear  witness ;  it 
is  for  the  judge  to  weigh,  to  give  sentence  or  withhold 
it.  And  it  is  my  thought,"  said  Penalosa,  evenly, 
"that  Your  Commissary-ship  has  forgotten — again 
— who  is  judge  and  Governor  in  Santa  Fe." 

"Do  you  bait  me,  then!"  gritted  Huelve. 

"Not  in  the  least,  Reverend  Father.  I  but  men- 
tion, with  admiration,  that  humility  to  which  you  are 
sworn.  I  point  out  the  seemly  bearing  which  befits 
a  witness,  seeking — justice,  I  believe  you  said?  No 
more  than  that.  I  await  your  leisure.  You  have 
charges  to  prefer?" 

' '  Heresy !  blasphemy !  idolatry !  This  Pope  of  Te- 
gua,"  cried  Huelva,  pointing,  "serves  the  devil  his 
father!  He  was  seen  and  heard  at  sunrise  of  this 
morning,  practising  the  hellish  rites  of  sun-worship ; 
this  Franciscan  Fuentes,  unprofitable  servant  of 
God,  lukewarm,  rebuked  him  with  pleasant  words, 
almost  smiling — I  saw  and  heard ! — while  this  Fran- 
ciscan Guevera,  Head  of  his  Order  here,  looked  on, 
consenting,  complacent. ' ' 

Penalosa  considered.  He  spoke  to  the  unknown 
friar : 

"I  have  not  seen  you  before,  I  think?" 

Fuentes  raised  his  eyes.  "No,  Sefior  Governor. 
I  have  been  afield  since  your  coming;  first  in  the 
villages  of  the  Pecos,  lately  in  Acoma  and  Sia.  I  am 
Father  Fuentes." 

"Baltazar  Fuentes?    Yes?    I  have  heard  another 


98  WEST  IS  WEST 

tale  of  you  than  this — an  old  tale.    But  is  this  one 
true?" 

"It  is,  Sefior  Governor.  I  found  the  lad  in  sun- 
worship,  even  as  Father  Huelva  has  stated.  The 
boy  did  as  his  fathers  taught  him;  made  no  conceal- 
ment, thought  no  wrong.  I  instructed  him  to  wor- 
ship, not  the  sun,  but  the  Maker  of  suns." 

1 1  You  hear  ? ' '  cried  Huelva  in  a  great  voice.  ' l  They 
confess !  The  lash  for  this  smooth-spoken  priest ;  the 
lash  for  the  heretic  redskin,  death  if  he  bow  himself 
before  hell  again." 

"I  have  no  great  relish  for  these  lashes  of  yours, 
Father, ' '  quoth  Pefialosa.  ' '  I  hold  that  Father  Fuen- 
tes  erred  greatly  in  that  he  did  not  stress  the  enor- 
mity of  the  offense;  that  is  his  business.  I  recom- 
mend him  to  the  discipline  of  his  Order.  And  I 
think,"  he  said  smoothly,  "that  this  is  a  fitting 
time  to  point  out  to  Your  Paternity  one  circum- 
stance which  seems  to  have  escaped  your  notice ;  that 
the  servants  of  Saint  Francis  make  no  demand  on 
those  of  Saint  Dominic,  (already  overburdened), 
when  they  have  need  to  correct  a  sinful  brother. ' ' 

Huelva  glowered;  was  mute. 

"For  the  boy,  I  would  remind  that  we  are  a  few; 
a  handful  of  Spaniards,  cast  down  in  a  wilderness 
of  savage  nations,  cut  off  from  any  succor  by  a  great 
journey  and  waste  places.  If  it  were  policy  alone, 
it  sorts  well  with  our  wisdom  to  be  plainly  just  in 
the  eyes  of  these  barbarous  savages ;  even  to  smooth 
justice  with  mercy.  It  is  a  rule  that  has  served  me 
well." 

"You  are  yourselves  lax  in  the  faith,  long  suspect- 
ed," growled  Huelva,  taken  back  at  this  turning. 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  99 

"I  will  make  an  end  of  suspicion,  then,"  said  Don 
Diego,  eyes  a-dance.  "If  I  have  been  lax  aforetime, 
I  will  be  lax  still.  The  boy  shall  be  warned  and  in- 
structed in  our  true  and  holy  faith;  no  hurt  shall 
fall  to  him.  Why,  'tis  but  a  child!  Bethink  you, 
Father — our  Lord  Christ  loved  children."  Peilalosa 
looked  down  at  that  brown-winsome  small  daughter 
of  his ;  summoning  the  nurse,  he  gave  the  child  to  her 
keeping;  dismissed  the  boy  Pope,  with  grave  moni- 
tion ;  turned  his  mocking  eye  on  dark  Huelva. 

"Worshipped  the  sun,  did  he,  the  rascal?  Well, 
I  do  not  blame  him  greatly.  Holy  Father,  that  sun, 
more  like  your  hell  than  any  place  I  know,  is  yet 
visible  Source  and  Giver  of  Life ;  small  wonder  if  the 
savages  bow  down  to  it." 

Fanatic  rage  surged  to  Huelva 's  brow.  "Blas- 
phemer ! "  he  thundered.  * '  You  shall  burn  for  this ! ' ' 
Guevera  trembled.  Baltazar  eyed  his  new  Governor 
with  interest. 

"It  may  be  as  you  say,"  said  Diego  carelessly. 
."But  in  the  meantime  I  am  lord  of  this  province, 
answerable  for  safety  and  upkeep ;  my  will  is  peace 
and  not  war.  To  the  better  keeping  of  that  peace  I 
think  it  altogether  needful  to  check  your  meddling 
tyranny  and  usurpations.  We  are  at  the  world's 
edge  here;  I  could  name  one  who  stands  in  more 
peril  than  Pefialosa."  ( 

"I  will  break  you  for  this  insolence — criollo!" 

Diego  sat  still  under  the  insult;  laughed  aloud. 
4 '  Breaking  after  burning,  Father  ?  Come,  you  grow 
reasonable ;  my  poor  ashes  could  bear  that.  It  pleas- 
es me  to  see  your  arrogance  dwindle;  you  move  in 
the  right  direction ;  I  mean  to  teach  you  more  reason 


ioo  WEST  IS  WEST 

still.  Man,  I  know  your  inches,  your  letters  and 
plots!  You  harried  de  Mendizaval,  you  were  mill- 
stone to  his  neck.  You  would  dispose  sovereignly 
of  all  things,  make  your  lord  and  governor  your  pup- 
pet. You  have  meddled  with  affairs  of  mine  from  the 
first ;  conspired  against  me ;  tampered  with  my  dora- 
dos, who  told  me  straightway.  Meddler  and  marplot, 
they  laugh  at  you;  would  cast  you  into  prison  at 
my  word. ' ' 

Huelva  thrust  out  his  chin.  ' '  Not  one  would  dare 
lay  hand  on  the  minister  of  our  Most  Holy  Office! 
I  defy  you — Creole ! ' ' 

"Now,  that  may  be  true/'  said  Penalosa,  softly, 
"though  I  think  you  do  some  injustice  to  their  dar- 
ing. Yet  the  anger  of  the  Holy  Inquisition  is  a  thing 
to  be  feared ;  you  may  be  right  after  all.  I  shall  not 
put  them  to  the  test.  The  rather,  because  I  know  one 
whose  daring  has  never  failed  me;  a  criollo!"  He 
flashed  upon  Huelva,  hand  on  throat,  dagger  to 
heart.  "I  arrest  you  as  danger  to  the  state!" 

"Baseborn !"  gurgled  Huelva.  Diego's  hand 

gripped  his  windpipe,  the  keen  steel  drew  back.  Gue- 
vera  started  forward  in  horror ;  Fuentes  laid  a  large 
hand  to  Guevera's  breast.  Diego's  hand  loosed  its 
clutch  a  little. 

"You  were  saying — ?"  said  Diego,  waiting 

Huelva  saw  death  glittering  at  his  eyes.  "An  an- 
gry word,"  he  muttered. 

"Which  you  regret,  doubtless?" 

Guevera's  knees  shook  with  terror.  Huelva 's  des- 
perate eye  rolled  to  him,  to  calm-eyed  Fuentes. 

"Which  you  regret?" 

"Which  I  regret,"  mumbled  Huelva. 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  101 

"And  you  yield  yourself  prisoner?" 

"Yes." 

Penalosa  plucked  off  his  hand ;  the  Inquisitor  drew 
sweet  air  into  his  lungs  with  a  deep  breath,  sweet- 
est of  his  life.  "Come,  we  grow  acquainted,"  said 
Penalosa.  "You  shall  lie  under  lock  and  key  in  the 
next  room  till  you  make  submission ;  with  fair  bread 
and  water  to  purge  your  pride." 

"And  yet,"  said  stubborn  Huelva,  "  you  have  not 
called  your  guard." 

"You  speak  a  wise  word  there,"  laughed  Penalosa. 
"You  are  shrewd  and  stubborn,  you  shall  be  of  use 
to  me  yet.  This  is  a  perilous  matter;  my  golden 
ones  shall  not  lay  finger  to  it,  nor  know  it.  I  will 
hold  you  prisoner  in  my  own  room ;  we  will  converse 
together;  you  shall  meditate.  You  shall  be  help  to 
me  yet,  not  hindrance.  To  that  end,  I  will  have  you 
turn  your  thoughts  more  to  the  spread  of  our  Holy 
Gospel,  and  to  defence,  garrison,  treaties,  agricul- 
ture, commerce ;  with  less  talk  of  lashings,  burnings, 
and  breakings.  Take  my  arm,  reverend  sir;  you 
shall  seem  to  go  as  an  honored  guest,  in  friendly 
talk,  lest  rumor — perhaps  laughter — glance  upon 
your  authority." 

"Which  friendly  talk  and  seeming  of  guest,"  re- 
turned Huelva  steadily,  "safeguards  your  own  au- 
thority as  well  as  mine. ' ' 

"You  shall  have  the  last  word,  too,"  said  Penalo- 
sa gaily.  "You  do  not  lack  brains,  I  find.  These 
two  will  hold  tongue  between  teeth,  both  for  our  sakes 
and  their  own.  Will  you  not  visit  your  room,  rever- 
end Father?" 

Penalosa  came  back  at  once.     He  pulled  a  long 


102  WEST  IS  WEST 

face  and  looked  a-slant  on  Fuentes,  ignoring  Gueve- 
ra:  Guevera  says  it,  he  tells  the  tale.  Yet  Guevera 
was  of  the  grandees,  Fuentes  peasant-born ;  Pefialo- 
sa  knew  to  judge  a  man. 

"Here  is  a  goodly  coil!"  says  Diego. 

1 '  My  fault,  and  I  ask  pardon  for  it, ' '  says  Fuentes. 
"I  was  too  mild  with  the  boy,  too  stiff  with  the  Do- 
minican. ' ' 

"No  fault  of  yours,"  says  Don  Diego.  "This 
affair  was  to  be  settled.  It  has  been  drawing  to  a 
head  this  year.  The  colony  is  in  no  posture  to  thrive 
under  two  masters.  As  for  mildness  and  easy  deal- 
ing with  the  heathen,  that  is  root  and  branch  of  my 
policy,  I  stand  or  fall  by  that;  I  will  not  have  the 
colony  thrust  into  needless  hazard:  this  clash  was 
bound  to  come,  to-morrow  or  to-day.  Yet  it  is  my 
poor  thought  that  two  of  us  three  are  greatly  jeop- 
ardized. Saint  Dominic  carries  all ;  if  I  cannot  tame 
and  master  yonder  hooded-crow,  the  Holy  Office  will 
make  but  one  mouthful  of  the  two  of  us."  He  con- 
sidered for  a  brief  silence.  "I  think  we  two  have 
made  history  this  day,"  said  Pefialosa  laughing 
lightly.  "I  think  we  are  the  first,  in  the  New  World 
at  least,  to  raise  finger  against  the  Holy  Office.  It 
might  be  a  wise  choice,  Father  Fuentes,  if  you  elect 
to  ply  your  labors  at  our  further  outposts.  Pefialosa 
might  weather  the  storm,  if  storm  there  comes.  Time 
will  show."  So  says  Guevera. 

Huelva  made  submission,  being  prisoner  seven 
days.  It  is  certain  that  Don  Diego  put  himself  out 
to  ingratiate  himself,  to  captivate  his  captive;  it  is 
like  that  Huelva  fell  under  his  charm,  in  spite  of 
fear,  humiliation,  fanatic  hate.  From  that  time, 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  103 

Diego  heaped  his  late  foe  with  high  employment  and 
honors.  Governor  and  Commissary-General  worked 
hand-in-glove :  and  all  things  went  well  with  the  col- 
ony. That  was  the  golden  age  of  New  Mexico. 

In  1664,  Penalosa  returned  to  Mexico.  Three 
months  and  a  half  he  loitered  in  Parral,  "in  order  to 
propose  to  the  Viceroy  the  conquest  of  those  coun- 
tries which  he  had  discovered."  — That  loitering  was 
his  bane.  In  Mexico  City,  the  Holy  Office,  "which 
never  pardons  anything  done  against  its  supreme 
authority,"  had  him  arrested;  pounced  upon  him  as 
he  dismounted  at  the  Viceroy's  door. 

In  the  north,  wavering  Guevera,  himself  a  Cata- 
lan, gave  Fuentes  warning  of  the  coming  storm.  Bal- 
tazar  Fuentes  took  up  his  grandson  Timoteo  and  fled 
away  into  the  wilderness;  wandered  from  tribe  to 
tribe,  befriended.  He  passed  southward  in  a  long 
valley  between  unknown  mountains,  met  and  accom- 
panied a  wandering  family  of  the  Moqui;  turned 
eastward  across  a  high  mountain  to  the  haunted 
valley  of  the  Witch  Hills,  where  the  Moqui  rode 
swiftly,  with  incantations ;  found  thereby  a  fair  high 
table-land  walled  by  a  long,  red  cliff,  in  which  was 
a  cleft  pass  a  bare  lance-length  in  width,  with  a  creek 
of  sweet  water  therein ;  for  a  day's  journey  on  either 
side  there  was  no  other  passway. 

Then  Father  Fuentes  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  saw 
that  the  wilderness  was  very  great  and  he  was  very 
small,  weak  and  stricken  with  years.  He  tarried  at 
that  red  pass  and  there  laid  a  trap  for  souls.  Since 
the  redskins  were  scattered  far,  since  he  could  no 
longer  seek  them  in  his  age,  they  should  come  to  him 


104  WEST  IS  WEST 

in  this  gateway ;  seeking  those  pools  of  sweet  water, 
they  should  find  the  water  of  life. 

The  Moqui  aided  him  in  his  desire.  In  the  narrow 
mouth  of  that  red  pass  he  built  a  roof  of  hewn  cedar 
into  the  living  rock,  where  it  overhung  and  closed 
together ;  a  floor  of  cedar  logs,  high  above  the  flood- 
way;  rude  wall  and  door,  a  high  stairway  to  that 
door,  a  gate  at  the  water-way :  and  there,  on  the  ele- 
venth of  June,  the  day  of  Saint  Barnabas  the  Apos- 
tle, he  founded  a  church  and  named  it  for  Saint  Bar- 
nabas. 

A  far  word  had  gone  forth  of  Fuentes ;  the  Sign  of 
the  Left  Breast,  "Goodheart,"  Father,  was  his  to 
all  the  wandering  tribes.  His  house  of  God  became 
a  Place  of  Truce,  and  he  preached  there  a  God  migh- 
ty and  merciful. 

In  the  year  1680,  driven  by  exaction  and  outrage, 
the  tribes  of  New  Mexico  arose  and  exterminated  the 
Spaniards,  root  and  branch.  A.  young  chief  of  the 
Teguas  was  leader;  his  name,  Pope.  It  was  a  well- 
planned  rising :  the  blow  was  struck  in  all  places  at 
the  same  hour,  sudden  and  swift.  A  scanty  few — 
civilians,  soldiers,  priests,  women  and  children  — 
outlived  the  first  butcher-work,  and  fled  south  with 
Governor  Otermin.  Where  the  mission  of  Socorro, 
Our  Lady  of  Succor,  was  afterwards  built  for 
thankfulness,  they  were  joined  by  other  fugitives, 
a  strong  party  from  the  Pecos ;  made  a  stand,  made 
good  their  retreat  to  where  El  Paso  now  stands. 

Of  those  left  behind  but  two  were  spared  by  tho 
savages;  Timoteo,  the  grandson  of  dead  Fuentes; 
and  Elena,  daughter  of  Pefialosa.  These  two  were 
wedded  on  a  later  year ;  housed  themselves  at  a  great 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  105 

spring  under  that  red  cliff,  not  far  from  the  church 
Fuentes  builded.  For  one  fourth  of  a  thousand  years 
their  descendants  have  dwelt  under  these  forgotten 
skies;  christened,  wedded,  buried  by  the  church  of 
Saint  Barnabas. 

The  Inquisition  kept  Peiialosa  in  prison  for  thirty- 
two  months,  ''made  inquiry  into  all  his  actions  and 
all  his  words. "  It  stripped  him  of  his  offices  and  de- 
clared him  incapable  of  holding  any  office  in  New 
Spain.  It  sold  his  property  (to  itself)  for  eighty- 
six  thousand  crowns — worth  three  hundred  thousand, 
says  Pefialosa ;  fined  him  fifty  one  thousand  of  these 
crowns,  and  kept  the  other  thirty-five  thousand. 

Here  is  an  account  by  an  eye  witness,  of  a  "spe- 
cial" Auto  de  Fe  celebrated  at  the  convent  of  San 
Domingo  on  the  third  of  February  1668.  It  is  from 
the  diary  of  Antonio  de  Robles,  a  Pepys  of  Mexico. 

"There  also  came  forth  in  the  said  Auto  de  Fe, 
Diego  de  Pefialosa,  governor  of  New  Mexico,  for  un- 
restrained language  (suelto  de  lengua,  leaps  of  the 
tongue)  against  priests  and  lords  inquisitors,  and 
some  absurdities  which  bordered  on  blasphemy.  He 
came  out  in  a  shirt,  which  was  very  fine ;  dress  and 
black  velvet ;  his  hair  (which  was  his  own  and  long) 
well  dressed;  his  stockings  wrinkled;  very  large 
hand-ruffles  of  Flemish  point-lace,  then  used,  so  that 
apparently  he  attired  himself  on  purpose,  without 
cloak  or  hat,  with  a  green  candle  in  his  hand.  He 
excited  much  compassion." 

You  may  judge  how  Pefialosa  was  little  like  to 
stomach  all  this.  You  are  to  consider  that  the  man 
had  seen  greatness  at  his  fiinger-tips.  The  truth  is, 


io6  WEST  IS  WEST 

he  liked  it  not  at  all ;  vowed  revenge. 

Discredited,  penniless,  friendless,  without  employ- 
ment; poor  antagonist  for  the  all-powerful  inquisi- 
tion!   Where  to  begin?    Letters  to  Peru  were  unan- 
swered;  Bishop-uncle   was   coy.     Friends,   of   the 
Grandee  sort,  ignored  him,  and  all  men  feared  the, 
wrath  of  the  Holy  Office :  this  man,  guilty  of  the  first' 
press-agent,  was  also  victim  of  the  first  blacklist. 

Haughty- stubborn  Pefialosa  took  sneer  and  slight 
of  silken  Grandees  in  very  ill  part.  There  were  for- 
bidden duels ;  tough  Penalosa  victor ;  punishment  not 
pushed  home.  We  may  hope  that  this  unlooked-for 
clemency  was  in  some  part  due  to  grudging  admira- 
tion for  the  man,  respect  for  unmerited  misfortune ; 
it  is  certain  that  once  his  vanquished  antagonist 
pleaded  for  him.  And  authority  shrank  from  any 
irrevocable  affront  to  the  powerful  families  of  our 
Diego's  kinsmen,  who  had  drawn  together  to  a  sin- 
ister and  sullen  faction  during  the  months  of  his 
imprisonment.  Even  the  all-powerful  Inquisition 
had  not  quite  dared  Diego's  death.  In  fact,  they 
were  lenient  with  him — as  Inquisitors  go.  At  that 
same  very  special  Auto  which  condemned  Diego,  a 
lesser  offender  and  of  a  less  formidable  family,  one 
Ferdinand  de  Tolosa,  received  four  hundred  lashes 
on  the  installment  plan,  and  was  banished  to  thej 
Phillipine  Islands.  As  reverse  and  offset  to  this,! 
sullen  Valdivias,  Ocampos,  Mayas,  feared  to  offend 
the  Inquisition ;  his  life  safe,  they  reached  no  aid  to 
their  black-sheep  kinsman. 

It  would  be  shameful  to  tell  you  to  what  shifts 
Diego  was  driven  to  keep  bare  life ;  Bishop-uncle  re- 
maining shy.  It  was  the  bounty  of  an  old  foot- 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  107 

soldier  of  his  that  paid  for  passage  to  Havana,  in 
1669.  Havana,  once  saved  by  him,  received  him  but 
coldly;  the  terror  of  the  Inquisition  stalked  abroad. 
Yet  he  contrived  to  live,  lingered  there  for  many 
months,  awaited  letters  from  Peru ;  none  coming. 
5  He  took  sail  at  last  in  a  Canary  Island  vessel 
which  took  him  to  the  Island  of  Teneriffe.  The  gov- 
ernor was  Diego's  cousin,  and  a  bigot.  He  received 
his  broken  kinsman  kindly  enough,  but  would  further 
no  voyage  to  Spain.  Bearded  sea-captains,  at  Pen- 
alosa's  askings,  looked  a-slant  at  him,  whispered, 
shook  their  heads. 

Pefialosa  was  resolved  for  Spain  and  justice.  It 
was  a  time  of  truce :  he  took  ship  under  an  English 
heretic ;  landed  in  London.  He  gained  favor  with  the 
English  king  and  the  Duke  of  York,  who  were  keen 
to  hear  of  that  great  river  of  his,  the  Mischipi  or 
Paligada,  and  the  rich  country  of  Quivira.  But  the 
Marquis  de  Fresno  and  the  Count  de  Molina,  Span- 
ish Ambassadors,  threw  discredit  upon  him,  gave 
him  cold  looks ;  told  King  James  that  this  was  a  con- 
tumacious rebel,  a  man  not  allowed  to  set  foot  in 
Spain :  Spanish  justice !  Diego  saw  at  last  how  use- 
less it  was  to  seek  redress  of  Spain. 

Each  rebuff  and  insult  made  deeper  his  haughty- 
stubborn  hate,  firmer  his  purpose;  at  each  fresh 
wrong,  Pefialosa  tightened  his  belt  and  set  his  grim 
face  to  his  task.  He  held  that  "leaping"  tongue  of 
his  in  leash  now,  pondered  deeply  on  new-world 
maps,  probed  Spain  for  the  weak  joint  in  her  armor. 
He  was  American-born;  to  his  death-day  he  never 
put  foot  to  Spanish  soil.  The  ambassadors  perse- 
cuted him  afresh,  intrigued  against  him,  sought  his 


io8  WEST  IS  WEST 

life  by  the  hands  of  secret  bravos — luckless  I — 
heaped  infamy  upon  him,  quite  cast  down  his  credit 
at  the  court ;  drove  him  out  at  last. 

He  proceeded  to  France,  threw  himself  "upon  the 
protection  of  the  greatest  king  in  the  world. ' '  Span- 
ish ambassadors,  Marquis  de  Los  Balazes  and 
others,  looked  upon  him  coldly,  expressed  "distrust 
of  his  stay  in  France." 

By  this  time,  Pefialosa's  purpose  was  shaped  and 
hardened.  Taking  a  hint  from  the  English  king,  who 
had  shown  so  much  interest  in  that  river  of  Mischipi, 
he  set  himself  to  turn  France  to  that  great  river,  to 
throw  France  against  Spain  in  the  New  World.  He 
made  it  his  life-work — and  he  succeeded. 

By  now  he  knew  himself  to  be  a  marked  man ;  knew 
that  he  was  to  mix  no  more  at  first  hand  with  the 
affairs  of  the  great.  He  accepted  that  fact,  humbled 
himself,  drew  into  the  background.  He  sought  for 
his  middleman ;  found  him  in  the  young  Sieur  de  La 
Salle,  an  adventurer  whose  imagination  was  fired 
by  a  storied  river  he  was  to  follow  from  the  Great 
Lakes  for  an  eight  months '  journey  to  the  Gulf  of 
California — Road  to  China! 

Peiialosa  threw  himself  into  La  Salle 's  party, 
pushed  La  Salle 's  fortunes  with  all  his  genius.  More 
especially  he  bent  his  intrigues  to  tempt  the  cupidity 
and  ambition  of  the  Grand  Monarch  with  the  rich- 
ness of  the  Gran  Quivira. 

From  this  time,  Pefialosa  becomes  a  thin  and 
shadowy  figure.  There  is  a  glimpse  of  him  at  the 
house  of  one  M.  Morel,  where  he  dined  in  company 
with  La  Salle  and  Beaujeu.  He  knew  shallows  and 
miseries.  Rumor  makes  him  fencing  master — a  good 


BARNABY  BRIGHT  109 

one — under  the  assumed  name  of  Pinito  Pino. — And, 
year  after  year,  trackless  rumors  of  Quivira  swell 
cumulative,  beat  on  the  ear  of  King  and  court  and 
France,  turn  all  eyes  that  way;  La  Salle  is  listened 
to,  applauded,  encouraged;  gets  his  chance:  France 
is  committed  to  the  ' '  Mischipi. ' ' 

Pefialosa,  or  a  thin  ghost  of  him,  haunts  the  ante- 
chambers of  the  Tuilleries ;  patient  now,  this  son  of 
the  Conquistadores ;  that  leaping  tongue  of  his 
schooled  to  silence.  There  is  a  "Memorial"  of  his, 
''On  the  Affairs  of  America"  given  to  Monsieur  de 
Seignelai,  Minister  of  the  Marine;  it  sets  forth  the 
facility  with  which  New  Biscay  may  be  conquered, 
a  colony  established:  "an  enterprise  more  ruinous 
to  the  Spanish  monarchy  than  in  any  other  place 
where  his  majesty  can  attack."  There  are  alterna- 
tive plans,  with  details.  French  "Fribustiers"  from 
Santo  Domingo  are  to  make  the  attack,  under  their 
own  chief,  Grammont;  Pefialosa  is  to  be  guide. 

"He  believes  that  he  cannot  give  better  pledges  of 
his  fidelity  than  by  putting  himself,  without  a  single 
other  countryman  of  his  own,  among  a  thousand  or 
twelve  hundred  warlike  Frenchmen,  and  at  the  dis- 
cretion of  the  French  commander,  who  is  to  lead 
them  with  him,  and  to  whom  he  says  orders  may  be 
given  to  hang  him  on  the  first  tree,  if  he  fails  in  any 
promise  he  makes." 

Other  "Memoirs,"  too  many;  one,  "touching  the 
establishment  of  a  new  colony  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river  called  Rio  Bravo" — a  project  carried  out 
somewhat  later,  by  Philip  Nolan  and  others. 

At  last — victory!  French  Government  consents; 
La  Salle 's  foray  to  New  Biscay,  Pefialosa 's  to 


i  io  WEST  IS  WEST 

Panuco,  are  mutually  to  support  each  other:  La 
Salle 's  to  go  first.  It  is  1684 :  Pefialosa  is  sixty  years 
old :  La  Salle  sails  from  La  Rochelle  in  July.  Alas ! 
A  luckless  expedition,  and  bungled;  the  Spaniards 
are  alert,  energetic;  La  Salle  proves  unfit:  French 
Government  loses  heart,  abandons  both  La  Salle  in 
Texas  and  Pefialosa  in  France.  Beaujeu  and  the 
Abbe  Cavalier  record  how  eagerly  they  awaited  the 
reinforcements  under  Pefialosa  till  the  end  of  1686. 
Pefialosa  died  in  Paris  on  almost  the  same  day  that 
La  Salle  perished  in  Texas. 

On  this  tormented  planet  perhaps  there  has  been 
no  man,  missing  greatness,  who  came  so  near  that 
frantic  blame  and  praise  which  men  call  Fame,  and 
prize  so  strangely,  as  this  baffled  Pefialosa.  He  set 
a  bound  to  the  empire  of  Spain,  that  dim  adventurer ; 
his  dream  became  Louisiana;  his  hand  was  first  in 
America  to  strike  a  blow  for  freedom,  first  to  dare 
the  Inquisition:  be  that  his  epitaph.  Our  Bancroft 
terms  him  imposter,  perhaps  because  the  Inquisition 
indicted  him  as  "embustero."  I  prefer  the  testimony 
of  Pope  the  Tegua,  who  knew  the  man  and  spared 
his  love-child. — It  is  so  long  ago  I — the  word  cannot 
harm  her  now. 


CHAPTER   V 

FUENTES 

T 

"I'M  glad  we  didn't  go  on  last  night.  Wouldn't 
have  missed  this  for  a  farm,"  declared  John  Sayles, 
looking  up  between  the  narrow  walls  to  a  rift  of  blue 
sky. 

* '  Thought  you  'd  enjoy  it, ' '  said  Emil.  '  *  Folks  do. 
No  use  going  further,  though.  We've  seen  the  best. 
Cliffs  get  lower  from  here  on." 

They  turned  back  down  the  Z-shaped  pass,  John 
Sayles  riding  sidewise  and  debonair.  They  rode  un- 
der the  cedar  floor  of  the  little  church ;  John  Sayles 
checked  the  Paint  horse  and  looked  back. 

1 '  Sixteen-sixty-f our !  Why,  that  was  the  year  the 
English  took  over  New  York,  wasn't  it?" 

' ' Search  me!"  said  Emil.  "It's  been  a  right 
smart  spell,  anyhow.  The  contractor  put  just  such 
wood  into  Solomon's  temple,  but  the  old  Fuentes 
person  put  it  all  over  Solomon  in  the  matter  of  walls. 
Of  course,  there's  been  repairing  done  as  needed. 
The  Fuentes  gente  saw  to  that.  Doors  have  never 
been  locked,  and  that  mess  of  silver  candlesticks  and 
truck  is  the  original  outfit.  Don't  say  anything  about 
it  when  you  get  back  to  New  York,  will  you?" 

"But  why  didn't  the  Fuentes  crowd  settle  here?" 

"They  did — the  first  pair — for  a  year  or  two. 
Then  they  moved.  "  For  one  thing,  the  new  home- 

iii 


ii2  WEST  IS  WEST 

stead  is  level  and  easy  to  irrigate.  You  maybe  notice 
that  this  is  steepish  country,  right  here.  Better  soil 
there,  too,  and  more  water.  I  reckon  Fuentes  spring 
is  a  natural  artesian  well,  and  that  some  meddlesome 
guy  will  bore  and  find  heap  water  thereabouts,  some 
day.  But  I  judge  the  main  reason  for  moving  was 
that  the  Indians  accepted  this  place  as  holy  ground. 
Neutral  ground,  anyhow;  there  hasn't  been  a  man 
killed  at  this  water,  red  or  white,  since  the  day 
grandpa  Fuentes  stopped  his  rambling  about  and 
settled  down  here.  The  Indians  set  a  heap  of  store 
by  grandpa,  it  seems.  I  reckon  maybe  his  folks  fig- 
ured that  this  was  God's  Ground  and  felt  backward 
about  jumping  the  claim  on  Him. — Let's  go!" 

Their  camp  was  under  the  cliff,  half  a  mile  north 
from  church  and  water.  When  they  had  hitched  up 
and  were  ready  to  start,  Emil  paused  and  looked 
around  him. 

' '  I  declare,  this  is  a  right  pleasant  place  here, ' '  he 
said.  " Guess  I'll  locate  this  camp  as  a  homestead 
for  myself,  if  you'll  be  a  witness." 

' '  Homestead  1 ' '  echoed  John  Sales.  ' '  You  're  never 
going  to  bring  your  cattle  out  here,  that  much  fur- 
ther from  a  market?" 

1 '  Oh,  no.  Cattle  would  go  right  back,  and  they  're 
in  a  good  place  now,"  said  Emil  tranquilly.  " Be- 
sides, this  is  Fuentes  country.  They  wouldn't  like 
it  for  me  to  crowd  in  with  cattle. ' '  From  one  of  the 
side  curtains  he  produced  paper  and  pencil. 

"But  what  do  you  want  of  a  homestead,  then?" 

"Live  here.  Good  neighborhood. "  Emil  nodded 
his  head  toward  the  church  of  Barnaby  Bright  and 
began  writing. 


FUENTES  113 

"But  there's  no  water." 

"Haul  it  up.  Or  dig." 

"Humph — dig!  How  far  would  you  have  to  dig, 
do  you  think?" 

"Don't  think — I  know,"  sa'fcd  Emil  writing  indus- 
triously. ' '  Six  hundred  feet. ' ' 

"Beally?    What's  the  joke?    You  don't  mean  t- 
tell  me  you  can  see  that  far  down,  I  hope?" 

"Not  down,"  said  Emil,  patiently.  "In — in  and 
a  little  up. ' '  He  jerked  his  pencil  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  overhanging  cliff.  "As  I  figured  it,  it's  just 
about  six  hundred  feet  straight  in  from  here  to  the 
second  elbow  of  Barnaby  Bright  Pass,  where  we 
turned  back  awhile  ago.  Creek  full  of  water  there. 
You  sign  here  and  we  '11  go.  Ought  to  have  two  wit- 
nesses, I  reckon.  I'll  get  somebody  else  to  stop  as 
he  is  passing  by,  and  put  his  name  to  it." 

John  Sayles  signed;  Emil  built  a  little  monument 
of  stone,  took  an  empty  baking  powder  tin  from  the 
chuck-box,  slipped  his  location  notice  in  this,  and 
placed  the  tin  in  the  monument. 

"Tell  me  some  more  about  the  Fuentes  clan,"  said 
John  Sayles  when  they  were  on  the  road  again.  "I 
listened  to  all  the  cowboys  talk  in  San  Clemente,  and 
asked  all  the  questions  I  knew,  but  none  of  them  ever 
mentioned  the  name  of  Fuentes." 

"That's  easy.  The  Fuentes  cattle  have  all  been 
raised  right  here,  and  the  mammies  of  'em,  and  their 
mammies.  They  are  at  home,  those  cattle. —  They 
don't  want  to  go  anywhere  else,  and  they  wouldn't 
stay  anywhere  else.  The  Fuentes  people  don't  have 
to  attend  the  roundups,  and  so  they  don't  figure 
much  in  camp-fire  talk.  Also,  there  isn't  just  one  big 


ii4  WEST  IS  WEST 

brand,  but  fifteen  or  thirty  little  brands.  That  makes 
it  easy  not  to  talk  about  their  cattle. ' ' 

"They  keep  sheep,  too,  you  tell  me.  And  I've  al- 
ways heard  that  sheepmen  and  cattlemen  were  tra- 
ditional enemies.  Yet  you  seem  friendly  enough  to 
these  people." 

"Shucks,"  said  Emil.  "We  don't  enjoy  sheep1 
drifting  on  our  ranges,  especially  when  the  range  is 
neither  ours  or  the  sheepman's,  but  Uncle  Sam's. 
This  bunch  keeps  their  sheep  on  their  own  range, 
and  they  never  bother  anyone.  They  run  their  sheep 
north  of  their  town  and  their  cows  down  this  way. 
Your  own  folks,  the  N-8  outfit,  are  the  closest  neigh- 
bors, and  they  get  on  fine  with  the  Fuentes  gente. 
They're  right  nice  folks,  and  that's  a  fact.  I'm  not 
right  sure  but  what  they're  the  best  we've  got.  You 
lay  over  a  day  and  get  acquainted.  You'll  like  'em. ' ' 

"Are  they  all  Mexicans?" 

1 '  Well,  I  think  you  might  maybe,  call  them  Ameri- 
cans— considering"  said  Emil  mildly.  "They  may 
almost  be  called  the  first  Americans,  you  might  say. 
But  they're  not  all  of  the  Spanish  blood,  if  that's 
what  you  mean.  Two  or  three  generations  ago,  a 
wild  pack  of  Scotch  strolled  down  the  mountain  from 
Canada — a  mess  of  Hurrays  and  Mars  and  Stewarts 
— and  the  Fuentes  people  married  up  with  them/ 
considerable.  Like  I  told  you  last  night,  the  Fuentes' 
family  think  themselves  the  pick  of  the  bunch  — 
proud  as  old  man  Lucifer.  Seems,  though,  that  they 
allowed  these  Scotch  lads  was  in  their  class  —  for 
they  sure  assimilated  them  a-plenty.  And,  during 
the  war,  in  sixty-two,  we  sent  a  crowd  up  here  to  fix 
the  map  over." 


FUENTES  115 

"We?"  said  John  Sayles,  interrupting. 

"Texas.  My  dad  was  one  of  them.  But  the  Mex- 
icans didn't  want  the  map  monkeyed  with.  We 
cleaned  up  the  regular^,  but  the  Mexicans  give  us  a 
damn  good  lickin'  at  Glorieta  Pass.  Oh,  yes,  there 
was  more  of  'em  than  there  was  of  us.  That  was 
their  privilege;  that's  part  of  the  game — outnumber 
the  other  fellows  when  you  can;  no  kick  about  that. 
Well,  sir,  they  just  naturally  wiped  up  the  face  of 
the  earth  with  us. "  Emil  paused  to  laugh  at  himself. 
"Us?  I've  heard  tell  about  it  so  much  that  I  almost 
forget  I  wasn't  there." 

"Why,  I  never  even  heard  that  the  war  touched 
this  country,"  said  John  Sayles. 

"Nope.  No  press-agent.  But  it's  like  I'm  telling 
you.  And  after  they  turned  us  back,  they  never  let 
up  on  us,  day  or  night.  Chased  us  four  hundred 
miles,  into  the  brush  beyond  El  Paso.  The  boys  split 
up  every  which  way,  so  at  least  some  of  'em  could  get 
away.  Scared?  Hell,  no!  Stubborn.  Didn't  want 
to  surrender — especially  after  all  the  big  talk  they'd 
made.  Heap  easier  to  surrender  than  to  run.  Mighty 
few  of  them  got  through.  My  dad  was  eight  months 
reachin'  San  Antone,  and  he  was  half  scarecrow  and 
half  skeleton  when  he  made  it.  I  reckon  they  had  a 
sorry  time  of  it,  poor  boys.  That's  all  they  was, 
John — just  boys,  like  you.  Over  in  the  San  Andres 
once,  I  found  where  one  of  'em  had  hid  his  saddle 
in  a  big  juniper.  Wild  grapevines  growin'  clear  to 
the  top  of  the  tree.  So  I  dug  there  for  water — grape- 
vines are  sure  watersign,  you  know.  After  a  spell  I 
spied  the  saddle  way  up  in  the  top — an  old  McClel- 
lan.  Four  or  five  years  after,  I  found  one  of  his 


n6  WEST  IS  WEST 

spurs,  up  on  top  of  a  big  hill,  overlookin'  the  water. 
I've  often  wondered  about  him."  Emil  fell  into  a 
musing  silence,  and  roused  himself  with  an  effort, 
sighing. 

"I  bet  his  mother  thought  he  was  the  finest  baby 
that  ever  happened.  Wonder  if  he  got  through?  .  .  . 
What  was  I  going  to  say?  Oh,  yes!  Well,  the 
Fuentes  boys,  they  was  among  those  present  at  the 
fighting  and  the  chasing ;  they  liked  the  old  map,  just 
the  way  it  was.  And  they  brought  back  a  lot  of 
prisoners.  So  the  girls  nursed  'em  back  to  life, 
looked  'em  over  and  married  the  likeliest  of  'em — 
Caldwells  and  Hills  and  a  Claiborne  or  two.  They 
fatted  the  rest  of  'em  up  and  turned  'em  loose. 
Mighty  particular,  the  Fuentes  stock.  So  if  you  con- 
template matrimony  much — What  are  you  laughing 
at?  Just  you  wait  till  you  see  the  reigning  belle. 
She 's  one  raving  little  beauty,  Helen  is — Miss  Elena 
Mar  Fuentes — here 's  to  her !  Good  kid,  too. ' ' 

"Beally — this  is  so  sudden,"  laughed  the  boy.  "I 
— I  am  too  young  yet." 

"Well,  I'm  telling  you,"  said  Emil.  "If  your 
family  tree  isn't  just  about  the  proper  thing  in  trees, 
you'll  save  yourself  trouble  by  riding  straight  on  to 
the  N-8  ranch  today." 

"Fuentes  must  be  quite  a  town,"  remarked  John 
Sayles. 

"No.  Maybe  a  hundred  people.  Not  counting 
kids ;  they  just  estimate  them,  there's  so  many.  They 
wander  off  to  the  outside  as  they  grow  up,  mostly, 
of  late  years  especially.  You  find  them  everywhere. 
Good  stock;  a  finger  in  every  pie.  We'll  soon  be  in 
sight  of  the  town.  John  Sayles,  you'd  better  tell  me 


FUENTES  117 

something  about  your  grandfather  and  his  grand- 
father, just  in  case.  Old  Timoteo  will  be  wanting  to 
know,  when  you  begin  making  sheep's  eyes  at  little 
Helen." 

John  Sayles  elevated  his  eyebrow.  "You  think  I 
will  certainly  do  that?" 

Young  man,  said  Emil  severely,  ' '  if  I  thought  you 
wouldn't,  I'd  tip  this  wagon  over  on  you.  Mind  you, 
it  will  do  you  no  good  unless  your  family  has  been 
drawn  and  quartered;  but  when  little  Helen's  eyes 
say  Come,  you'll  never  stop  to  ask  Where.  You'll 
go.  And  sing !  Oh,  man !  Wait  till  she  springs  one 
of  those  old  Spanish  canciones  on  you !  Or  the  old 
Scotch  songs,  for  that  matter.  Helen  of  Kirkconnel, 
f rinstance.  Ask  her  for  that. ' ' 

"I'm  waiting!"  declared  the  boy  gaily.  "And 
now  how  about  the  N-8  people!  You  haven't  wised 
me  up  on  them. ' ' 

* '  Good  waddies,  every  one.  Only  four  of  'em,  you 
know;  it's  only  a  little  outfit.  Spike  Gibson  is  the 
foreman.  Wise  old  bird.  You  hearken  to  Spike. 
No  kin  to  old  man  Gibson.  Spike  hates  him  worse 
than  poison.  Don't  blame  him  much — the  old  man 
is  one  bad  actor.  But  Spike,  he 's  a  real  person.  You 
follow  Spike's  dust  and  you'll  be  all  right." 

"Mr.  James,"  said  John  Sayles  diffidently,  "do 
•  you  think  I  can  ever  get  to  ride  wild  horses  like  the 
boys  do?" 

"Sure  you  can.  Any  one  can  do  it  that's  got  the 
nerve  and  no  intelligence.  Why,  Steve  tells  me  you 
forked  that  Redlegs  like  an  old-timer." 

"But  he  was  all  tired  out,"  objected  John  Sayles. 
"I  couldn't  stay  on  at  all  until  he  wore  himself  out 


ii8  WEST  IS  WEST 

bucking  in  that  deep  sand.  Anyway,  I  think  he  was 
ashamed  to  throw  me  off  any.  more,  and  let  me  stay 
on  at  the  last  just  to  please  me  and  by  way  of  being 
polite." 

"Son,"  said  Emil,  "that's  the  right  spirit,  but 
youVe  got  me  all  mixed  up.  If  you've  got  sense 
enough  to  know  that,  why  aren't  you  smart  enough 
to  let  some  one  else  ride  the  wild  ones — hey?  Tell 
me,  did  Steve  let  the  hammer  down?" 

"Did  Steve— what?" 

"Did  Steve  uncock  Redlegs  for  you?" 

"I  don't  get  you — that  is  to  say,  pawdon  me,  me 
good  man?" 

"Did  Mister  Stephen  Wildcat  Thompson,  Esquire, 
ride  that  pet  of  his  first  to  take  a  little  of  the  triple 
extract  of  concentrated  hell  out  of  him  ? ' ' 

"He  did  not,"  said  John  Sayles  indignantly. 
"What  do  you  take  me  for?" 

"Well,  then,"  said  Emil,  "you  know  the  worst. 
When  you  can  ride  Eedlegs  in  the  first  fine  careless 
rapture,  as  Pierre  Hines  describes  it,  you've  done 
learned  a  trade.  Now  what  are  you  looking  so 
thoughtful  about?" 

"Why — I  wondered "  John  Sayles  hesitated 

a  moment,  and  then  blurted  out  the  question  that  had 
been  trembling  on  his  Tip  for  days.  ' '  What  have  all 
you  people  got  against  Mr.  Logan,  that  nobody  men- 
tions his  name  ? ' ' 

"Him?"  said  Emil  in  well-feigned  surprise. 
"Why,  Logan's  been  gone  away  for  quite  some 
years.  I  reckon  we've  pretty  nigh  forgot  him." 

"You  haven't  forgotten  other  people,  I  notice  — 
and  some  of  them  dead  and  gone  three  hundred 


FUENTES  119 

years.  Nate  Logan  has  not  forgotten  you,  I  can  tell 
you  that;  he  told  me  you  were  all  fine  people;  he 
keeps  the  old  N-8  ranch  and  brand  that  he  needs,  just 
as  much  as  I  need  a  teething-ring.  You  make  me  feel 
that  this  concerted  silence  is  your  way  of  talking 
scandal. ' ' 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,"  said  Bmil.  " Since  Nate 
left  us  he  got  to  be  a  big  man — millionaire,  railroad- 
maker  and  all  that.  So  all  this  no-talk  that  you 
notice  is  maybe-so  pure  envy  on  our  part." 

John  Sayles  saw  that  his  question  was  evaded; 
he  was  puzzled  and  hurt  by  it. 

That  night  John  Sayles  sat  in  an  old  garden  of 
Fuentes  town,  and  listened  entranced  to  the  dim 
sagas  of  three  centuries.  Stately  Don  Timoteo  told 
those  old  tales  with  grave  and  measured  cadences, 
stroking  his  long,  gray  beard:  young  Tim,  facing 
him  across  the  table,  drank  in  the  high  talk ;  his  eye 
sparkled,  his  smooth  face  flushed  with  pride:  while 
his  cousin,  young  Billy  Murray,  listened  sullenly,  his 
eyes  on  the  table.  Contrary  to  prediction,  the  bright 
eyes  of  Helen  Fuentes  left  John  Sayles  unfluttered. 
He  was  too  much  taken  up  with  the  delight  of  his 
first  personal  touch  with  ancient  romance;  and 
dainty  Helen,  demure  at  her  grandfather's  side,  felt 
herself  half -resentful  of  this  careless  stranger. 

Then  came  Lone  Miller,  riding  late  from  the 
Malibu.  For  him,  supper  was  served  afresh  under 
the  ancient  apple-tree ;  for  him,  the  talk  was  turned 
to  last  week's  catastrophe  at  the  Golden  Fleece,  with 
courteous  questionings  from  Don  Timoteo,  soft  ex- 
clamations from  Elena.  Miller  made  but  a  sorry  tale 
of  it,  slurring  his  own  great  part. 


120  WEST  IS  WEST 

"That  was  well  done  indeed;  that  day  should  earn 
a  song,  the  wages  of  the  brave.  But  why  did  you  not 
send  here  for  assistance?"  said  Don  Timoteo  regret- 
fully. "We  were  closer  than  San  Clemente;  my 
young  men  would  have  gone  gladly,  proud  to  have 
borne  a  part  in  that  great  labor. — Or  to  the  Morgans, 
who  were  even  closer?  I  love  not  the  Morgans  very 
greatly,  but  I  am  very  sure  they  would  have  proved 
good  men  in  your  need. ' ' 

"But  you  see,  your  people  are  not  miners — except 
Billy  here,"  said  Miller,  smiling  as  he  laid  his  hand 
on  young  Billy's  shoulder.  Old  Timoteo  frowned: 
Billy  Murray's  mining  was  like  to  win  for  the  young 
man  a  bride  not  to  the  old  man's  liking.  Miller  went 
on: 

"For  the  Morgans,  though  they  were  nearest  of 
all,  they  are  few  and  scattered,  they  ride  abroad  too 
much;  we  could  not  chance  finding  them;  it  was  a 
matter  of  hours  or  minutes.  Nor  are  the  Morgans 
miners,  for  all  their  name  and  blood." 

After  a  little,  at  the  urging  of  John  Sayles,  the 
talk  went  back  to  the  old  days.  They  were  down  as 
far  as  1770  now,  to  Baltazar  the  Dream-Maker,  and 
his  song  of  the  Witch  Hills.  But  Billy  Murray 
walked  aside  with  Emil. 

"Here  is  too  much  talk  of  ancestors,  too  much 
senseless  pride,"  declared  Billy.  "They  are  all  clean 
daft  about  their  Pefialosa  and  Stewarts  and  Mur- 
rays,  and  the  whole  weary  clanjamfry  of  'em. 
We  are  all  Americans  now. 

"The  old  jefe  still  objects  to  Katie  Quinn,  then?" 
said  Emil,  sympathetically. 

*  *  Object  ?    Goodness,  Agnes,  I  should  say  so !    The 


FUENTES  I2i 

one  crime  he  can't  forgive  is  not  being  an  aristocrat. 
I'm  fed  up  with  it.  I'm  off.  Going  to  San  Clemente 
tomorrow,  and  take  on  with  Tom  Quinn  again.  Mil- 
ler and  me,  we've  found  a  good  vein  of  soft  coal,  way 
beyond  the  San  Quentin.  Miller  tell  you  of  it? " 

"Yes." 

"It  will  be  a  big  thing  some  day,  when  the  railroad 
runs  through  here.  Van  Atta  split  a  big  bunch  of 
money  to  all  the  Golden  Fleece  men.  Made  'em  take 
it,  swore  up  and  down  it  was  no  bonus  but  money 
earned ;  wouldn't  take  nary  No  for  an  answer.  With 
that  and  what  I  can  earn  in  the  mines,  Miller's  going 
to  develop  our  coal  claim. ' ' 

"Then  you'll  become  an  ancestor  yourself?" 

Billy's  blush  could  be  seen  by  starlight. 

"Well,  you  needn't  stammer  about  it,"  said  Emil. 
"She's  a  fine  girl,  Katie.  None  better.  And  you'll 
get  no  better  pardner  than  Lone  Miller,  either. ' ' 

Billy  glanced  at  his  friend,  troubled:  opened  his 
mouth  for  speech,  but  thought  better  of  it. 

"And  Miller  is  my  rival,  too?  Is  that  what  you 
are  not  saying?  Well,  much  good  it  does  us.  I  am 
thinking  that  Bennie  Morgan  will  never  marry  any 
man  now,"  said  Emil,  simply  and  without  shame. 
"But  if  she  does — well,  that  was  a  true  word  I  was 
saying  of  Miller,  and  if  Bennie  May  ever  marries, 
she  will  find  no  better  mate  than  the  quiet  little  man 
in  yonder.  Billy,  if  you  ever  have  a  grudge  at  old 
Emil,  you  get  Doc  Hughes  to  tell  Bennie  about  Miller 
at  the  Golden  Fleece.  Gad !  the  old  scoundrel  had  us 
fair  blubberin'!  No  surprise,  of  course;  we  knew 
Miller  was  all  there ;  Bennie  knows.  But  she  ought 
to  hear  Doc  tell  the  story,  at  that !" 


CHAPTER  VI 

PUESTIIT  OF  HAPPINESS 

THE  next  morning,  Miller  rode  on  with  John 
Sayles  to  the  N-8  ranch,  where  he  purposed  to  buy  a 
team  for  his  new  venture. 

"Now  Billy,  said  Emil.  "Let's  you  and  me  make 
two  swaps;  one  for  temporary  accommodation  to 
both  of  us  and  one  for  keeps.  You  let  me  have  a 
horse  and  your  saddle,  and  you  drive  my  team  back 
to  town.  That  will  be  easier  for  you,  and  I'll  wander 
in  later. ' ' 

"Got  you!"  said  Billy.  "You  can  take  Ginger. 
What  else!" 

' '  I  want  a  third  interest  in  that  coal  mine  you  and 
Miller  found." 

"Oh,  you  do?"  jeered  Billy.  "What  you  got  to 
trade  that's  worth  having,  I'd  like  to  know?  That 
coal  mine  is  a  big  thing." 

"I'll  give  you  a  fhird  interest  in  something  just 
as  big.    Trade  with  you,  sight  unseen." 

' '  Give  it  a  name,  anyhow. ' ' 

"One-third  interest  in  the  most  valuable  home- 
stead in  the  world,  said  Emil.  "And  you  can  see  it 
yourself,  while  I  take  your  word  for  the  coal.  Your 
word  is  good.  Only  I  want  your  name  as  witness  to 
my  homestead  notice.  Located  it  yesterday — half  a 
mile  north  of  Barnaby  Bright. ' ' 

122 


PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS  123 

"Half  a  mile  north?  What  in  thunder  is  the  good 
of  a  homestead  there,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"I  didn't  word  that  right,  anyhow,"  said  Emil. 
"I  can't  promise  anyone  an  interest  in  my  home- 
stead. Got  to  swear  to  that  when  I  make  my  entry. 
What  I  mean  to  say  is  that  I'll  give  you  fellows  a 
third  of  whatever  I  get  for  sale  of  a  right-of-way 
across  my  homestead.  I  located  at  the  foot  of  the 
cliff  just  opposite  the  last  bend  in  Barnaby  Bright 
Pass,  and  the  papers  call  for  four  forties  due  west. 
That  takes  in  most  of  the  Pass ;  a  ready-made  tunnel 
worth  three  million  to  the  railroad  that  is  bound  to 
come  some  day,  and  that  must  go  through  Barnaby 
Bright." 

"Hell!"  said  Billy.  "Now,  why  couldn't  I  think 
of  that  ?  And  me  born  and  raised  here !  All  right, 
sir,  it's  a  trade — and  there  goes  part  of  a  perfectly 
good  coal  mine!" 

"Cheer  up!  Your  coal  mine — I  mean  our  coal 
mine — won't  be  any  good  till  the  railroad  reaches  it. 
You  haven't  lost  anything.  And  I'll  help  put  up  for 
development  work.  You  come  on  down  and  witness 
my  location  notice.  Then  you'd  better  wait  here  till 
Miller  comes  back  and  break  the  news  to  him.  'Tisn't 
strictly  necessary  to  tell  anyone  else,  till  I  get  ready 
to  build  me  a  house.  I've  got  six  months  to  start  it. 
'Twouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  for  you  to  locate  the  west 
end  of  the  Gap,  too.  My  claim  doesn't  cover  all  of 
it." 

"I'll  do  that,"  said  Billy. 

"All  right,  then — I'll  tell  the  old  don  adios  and 
we'll  go.  I'll  give  you  an  order  on  the  store  for  my 
part  of  the  truck ;  be  in  when  the  roundup  starts. " 


124     '  WEST  IS  WEST 

The  homestead  notice  was  witnessed,  and  Billy 
turned  back  to  Fuentes.  Emil  rode  south  across  the 
flat  to  Malibu  Mountain,  to  a  canon  fronting  the 
north — Mockingbird,  latest  home  of  the  Morgans. 

Emil  rode  slowly.  The  dim  trail  he  followed  held 
arrow- straight  to  the  mouth  of  Mockingbird,  cross- 
ing the  innumerable  little  winding  ridges  and  draws 
that  fell  away  from  the  base  of  Red  Mesa. 

He  passed  the  last  of  the  Fuentes'  herds  and  was 
not  yet  come  to  the  outmost  line  of  the  Morgan  cat- 
tle ;  the  tall  grama  rippled  in  gray  waves  to  his  feet ; 
quartz  and  mica  sparkled  and  shone  in  the  hills  be- 
fore him.  Then  the  breeze  died  away,  the  sun  beat 
down  through  the  hushed  air.  The  heat  rose  quiver- 
ing, visible ;  the  hills  dimmed  and  blurred  in  a  haze 
of  luminous  dust-motes,  the  far  off  sands  became  a 
dazzle  of  unbearable  white  brilliance,  the  dark  bare 
lowlands  billowed  and  heaved,  the  Witch  Hills  rose 
and  took  shape,  wavering,  fantastic,  wonderful :  the 
locust  shrilled  across  the  silent  noon. 

Lonely,  desolate,  forlorn?  Not  to  him.  He  dwelt 
in  the  glowing  heart  of  life,  an  uproarious  Valhalla, 
where  each  day  a  man  might  do  greatly:  his  heart 
laughed,  the  blood  pounded  lustily  in  his  ears,  hia 
eyes  took  hbld  on  all  delight. 

To  his  thought,  he  rode  the  crowded  lists  of  joy 
with  all  his  thronging  peers,  young  gods  in  a  young 
world,  where  they  made  sport  with  nimble  life.  No 
poor,  penny  world,  theirs,  but  an  endless  and  en- 
thralling book,  the  very  footnotes  of  it  tingling  with 
delight ;  a  blue  and  gold  world,  radiant  with  moun- 
tain and  dune  and  plain,  the  deep-lit  glowing  stars, 
freshness  of  tender  dawns  and  thrilling  dusks,  long, 


PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS  125 

cool  shadows  at  nightfall,  brooding  noons  and  wide, 
clean  skies,  the  great  free  winds  and  the  strong  white 
sun,  the  silences,  the  wastrel  echoes  of  the  hills,  the 
tense  passion  of  the  mocking  bird's  call  that  woke 
them  in  the  Blue  Bedroom  to  see  the  morning  made. 

He  was  a  little  proud  of  it,  that  Universe,  and  it 
caused  him  no  anxiety.  He  felt  that  it  was  a  Uni- 
verse made  On  Purpose,  not  a  forgotten  blunder; 
felt  unshrinkingly  sure  that  He  purposed  good  and 
not  evil,  Who  loved  all  these  things  well  enough  to 
make  them  beautiful.  The  phrase  Emil  used  to  voice 
this  feeling  may  sound  profane,  but  it  was  not  such 
by  intention.  When  he  remarked  gravely, ' '  God  was 
surely  onto  His  job,"  he  meant  nothing  but  simple 
admiration  and  gratitude.— Day  after  day  taught 
him  this  wisdom:  night  after  night  whispered  this 
counsel. 

The  Witch  Hills  of  the  mirage  swirled  and  quiv- 
ered before  him  as  he  rode,  thankful  for  their  beauty 
with  all  the  rest ;  thankful  most  of  all  for  the  crown- 
ing wonder  and  delight,  which,  like  the  clustered 
worlds  that  neighbored  him,  like  all  the  hourly 
miracles  that  jostled  him,  was  wrought  of  mist  and 
dust  and  water  and  fire ;  the  grey-eyed  maid  whose 
face  was  the  end  of  his  road,  of  all  his  roads. 

"It  will  be  right  lonesome  for  you,  come  round-up 
time,"  suggested  Emil. 

Bennie  May  laughed.  "Lonesome?  I  don't  know 
what  the  word  means.  I'm  fixing  to  raise  a  big 
garden,  now  that  we  have  water  enough  to  irrigate. 
That  is,  I  will  if  Joe  ever  gets  the  fence  built.  That 
will  keep  me  busy." 


126  WEST  IS  WEST 

"You  have  a  flower  garden,  too?  I  hope,"  said 
Emil,  "that  you  are  not  growing  effeminate." 

"I'm  afraid  so.  I  was  boyish,  rather,  wasn't  I? 
Atom-boy?" 

"A  Benny-boy.  Not  quite  like  any  one  else  that 
ever  was, ' '  said  Emil,  explicitly. 
•  "Besides,"  said  Bennie  May,  quickly,  "Kitty 
Barstow  is  coming  over  for  a  long  visit.  Perhaps 
Effie  Howland,  with  the  marvelous  baby,  will  come, 
too.  Aunt  Jen  wrote  to  invite  her  last  week." 

"Let  me  see!"  said  Emil  reflectively,  "you're 
known  me  quite  some  time,  haven't  you?" 

"Four  years,"  said  Bennie  May. 

"And  I've  never  offered  you  any  advice?" 

"Never." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Emil,  "I  will.  You  tell  me 
your  dad  and  Webb  are  boring  a  well  half  way  be- 
tween here  and  Barnaby  Bright ;  and  you  all  but  said 
that  you  hoped  they  wouldn't  find  any  water  in  it." 

"Now  Emil,  I  didn't  say  anything  that  could  be 
twisted  to  such  a  meaning." 

Emil  waved  the  protest  aside.  "No  matter.  Such 
is  your  half -hope — no  es  verdad?" 

Bennie  May  Morgan's  clear  grey  eyes  met  the  vis- 
iting blue   ones   for  communion  more   swift   than 
speech ;  it  was  her  way  to  meet  perplexity  squarely. 
1     "I  don't  know  how  you  guess  it;  but  it  is  the 
truth." 

"It  is  no  guess.  I  have  the  greatest  respect  and 
liking  for  your  esteemed  parent.  But  neither  affec- 
tion nor  foresight  blind  me  to  the  fact  that  he  is  a 
metallic  old  man,  with  one  steel  foot  and  one  cast- 
iron  head.  Without  intending  anything  of  the  sort, 


PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS  127 

he  is  the  easiest  man  in  the  world  to  get  along  with. 
Just  let  him  have  his  own  way  about  everything  and 
there  was  never  a  better  neigbhor.  And  if  not,  not." 

"You  are  a  severe  judge,  Emil." 

Emil  shook  his  head.  "Far  be  it  from  me  to  con- 
tra-say — but  severe  judge  is  not  the  word  at  alL 
Accurate  observer — impartial  and  incorruptible 
Emil — that's  me.  And  you're  afraid  the  new  well 
may  start  new  trouble  by  bringing  on  a  collision  with 
the  Fuentes  clan?" 

"Exactly.  There's  a  big  strip  of  No  Man's  Land 
between  us  now,  and  I  wish  it  could  stay  that  way." 

' '  Well,  "said  Emil,  < '  it  won >t.  They  '11  get  water. 
I  've  studied  that  country ;  before  ever  so  many  years 
there's  going  to  be  much  water  found  along  under 
Bed  Mesa — artesian  wells,  I  shouldn't  wonder — that 
the  whole  country  will  be  spoiled  for  stock-raising. 
You'll  see!  But  in  the  meantime,  Webb  and  Steel- 
foot  Morgan  get  water;  they  stock  up  with  cattle. 
Their  stuff  wanders  all  over  the  Fuentes  range, 
while  the  Fuentes  stock  stay  at  home,  and  the  Fuen- 
tes grass  gets  heap  short.  There 's  your  trouble.  Old 
Don  Timoteo  is  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  he  has  a  clear 
case  of  here  first.  I  couldn't  very  well  say  to  you 
that  Steelfoot  Morgan  is  an  arbitrary,  stiff-necked 
and  overbearing. old  gentleman.  But  that  is  precisely 
the  kind  of  an  old  gentleman  Timeteo  Fuentes  is,  and 
I  can  say  that  if  ever  there  was  a  well-matched  pair 
on  earth,  Don  Timoteo  and  Steelfoot  Morgan  are 
that  couple. ' ' 

"You  don't  say  anything  about  Webb?" 

"No,"  said  Emil,  "I  don't.  It  isn't  being  done 
this  year." 


128  WEST  IS  WEST 

Bennie  sighed.  * '  I  will,  then.  He  eggs  father  on — 
or  rather,  they  egg  each  other  on.  I  declare,  father 
ought  to  have  been  lord  of  some  island,  undisputed 
owner  of  every  inch  to  the  water's  edge.  He  would 
be  the  kindest  man  and  chieftain  alive.  And  Jim 
Webb  is  just  as  bad.  I  don't  see  how  he  and  father 
ever  managed  to  get  along  together  all  these  years. ' ' 

"Well,  then, — everyone  else  sees."  A  cloud  came 
over  Emil's  sunny  eyes;  rarest  occurrence.  Bennie 
smiled  faintly  and  shook  her  head,  ever  so  slightly, 
in  reproof — not  of  Emil,  but  of  that  unaccustomed 
cloud;  which  vanished  obediently. 

The  story  must  obtrude  a  word.  When  a  girl  is 
so  far  forward  in  a  man's  thoughts  that  glance  or 
gesture  answers  his  unvoiced  thought  more  clearly 
than  any  spoken  word  can  ever  do — then  that  girl  is 
none  so  unyielding  as  Bennie  May  fancied  she  was 
toward  Emil.  The  story  has  used  the  wrong  word. 
Bennie  May  was  girl  no  longer,  but  woman-grown; 
twenty-three  now,  and  taught  by  sorrow.  It  was  five 
years  since  the  year  of  the  great  rains. 

Bennie 's  thoughts  trailed  away;  she  roused  her- 
self with  a  start  and  in  some  confusion.  "You  were 
mentioning  advice?"  she  said,  sweetly. 

"So  good  of  me,  wasn't  it?"  said  Emil.  His  eye 
rested  on  a  little  blue  flower  which  Bennie  wore  on 
her  bosom.  He  knew  that  blue  blossom  as  one  of 
the  flowers  of  that  year  of  the  great  rains ;  knew  that 
since  that  memorable  year  Bennie  had  kept  a  little 
watered  garden  of  those  nameless  flowers.  "Dis- 
interested, too.  Here  is  my  advice.  Ask  little  Helen 
Fuentes  to  visit  you  here  and  to  meet  your  friends 
when  they  come;  ask  Don  Timoteo  with  her;  make 


PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS          129 

your  father  stay  at  home.  They  are  two  stubborn 
old  men,  but  two  pairs  of  bright  eyes  may  turn  the 
trick ;  their  old  hearts  are  soft  enough,  even  if  their 
old  heads  are  hard.  If  their  womankind  are  friendly, 
it  will  come  nearer  holding  them  back  from  foolish- 
ness than  anything  else.  You  '11  like  little  Helen,  too ; 
she's  a  nice  kid." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  Bennie.  "You  wear  well,  Emil; 
you  have  a  reserve  of  unsuspected  and  surprising 
qualities.  Who  would  have  suspected  you  of  diplo- 
macy?" 

' '  My  dear,  I  am  all  diplomacy.  You  are  unappre- 
ciative.  Haven't  I  had  a  plausible  reason  for  every 
visit  I  have  ever  made  to  your  extremely  perambula- 
tory  home,  or  homes  ? ' ' 

"This  is  a  beautiful  place — I  hope  it  will  be  my 
last  home"  said  Bennie,  wistfully. 

"I  don't,"  said  Emil,  with  emphasis.  "That  re- 
minds me — I  haven't  decided  on  my  reason  for  this 
trip  yet.  Must  be  getting  that  all  arranged  before 
the  men-folks  ride  in.  Who  all  is  here  now,  Bennie  f ' ' 

"Only  a  few — father,  Joe  and  Harry,  and  Carl 
Middaugh.  Tank  and  the  other  boys  are  at  the  new 
well." 

"I'm  sorry  about  Henry,  too,"  said  Emil,  cheer- 
fully. "Joe  is  so  much  taken  up  with  his  bronco- 
twistin'  that  he  doesn't  notice  anything  else  —  but 
that  youngest  brother  of  yours  is  highly  intelligent. 
That  statement  goes  double  for  Jim  Webb,  too." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Emil!" 

"My  coarse  and  cheerful  character,"  said  Emil, 
"is  hereby  repressed  in  disgrace:  I  make  haste  to 
change  the  subject,  with  my  customary  graceful  ease, 


I3o  WEST  IS  WEST 

by  remarking — ah!  uh!  er!  oh,  yes!  listen! — It  is 
well  worth  your  while  to  establish  social  relations 
with  little  Helen  and  her  interesting  grandparent. 
You  spoke  of  your  father  as  the  ideal  chieftain. 
There  is  the. great  danger;  Don  Timoteo  is  a  chief- 
,tain  right  out  of  the  middle  ages;  all  the  young  men 
j  of  Fuentes  are  lifted  up  with  legendary  exploits  of 
their  ancestors.  The  Scotch  loons  are  as  bad  or 
worse  than  the  Spanish  Cavaliers,  all  except  Billy 
Murray  and  maybe  Hank  Mar;  they  have  lucid  in- 
tervals. ' ' 

"I  have  heard  of  their  democratic  leanings, "  said 
Bennie.  * '  Railroad  men,  ar en 't  they  I ' ' 

"Henry  Mar  is :  Billy's  girl  is  a  miner.  Leastways 
old  Tom  Quinn  is  a  miner.  Little  Katie,  she  is  in 
'El  Paso  now.  To  resume  where  you  so  rudely  inter- 
rupted: these  high-spirited  young  laddie-bucks  are 
not  afraid  of  anything  on  earth;  quite  sadly  other- 
wise. They've  been  brought  up  on  those  old  stories ; 
their  everyday  talk  is  couched  in  the  high-sounding 
imagery  of  war;  they're  eaten  up  with  the  crazy  idea 
that  fighting  is  the  only  way  to  prove  manhood. 
Young  Tim  and  little  Charlie  Stewart  are  the  worst 
bitten ;  I  believe  they  will  be  greatly  disappointed  if 
the  Morgans  don't  crowd  them.  They  look  forward 
with  great  joy  to  the  chance  of  a  nice  little  war.  Clan 
jealousy,  that's  the  danger;  the  fame  of  the  Morgan 
clan  makes  them  ashamed  of  being  peaceable  folk 
—  little  idiots! — Understand  me  well,  young  lady. 
You  are  to  confine  your  social  amenities  to  little 
Helen  and  cousin  Alicia  and  Don  Timoteo.  Young 
Tim  is  not  to  be  tolerated  under  any  circumstances, 
nor  Charlie  Stewart.  That  is  final." 


PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS 

"Me  lud,  it  shall  be  done,"  said  Bennie  May." 
"Having  now  made  an  end  of  my  affairs,  let  us  at 
this  late  last  go  on  to  yours.  What  have  you  been 
doing  with,  by,  and  for  yourself?  A  fine  hostess  I 
am  not  to  have  asked  you  before.  You  will  be  think- 
ing me  a  very  selfish  person." 

"The  last  time  I  told  you  what  I  thought  of  you," 
said  Emil  slowly,  "you  were  not  pleased.  I  there- 
fore beg  to  be  excused.  You  know,  anyway. — Dear 
Madam :  Answering  your  esteemed  question  of  even 
date;  what  have  I  been  doing  by  myself? — Beg  to 
reply :  I  have  been  very  busy. ' ' 

"Busy?"  scoffed  Bennie.  "I  see  you  being  busy. 
And  at  what,  pray  ? ' ' 

"I  have  been  very  busy,"  repeated  Emil  firmly, 
"not  making  rules  for  God;  not  pulling  off  desperate 
coups  and  shady,  hair-trigger  intrigues  for  His  ad- 
vantage ;  not  dealing  'em  from  the  bottom  for  Him. 
Then  it  uses  up  so  much  of  my  energy  not  running 
about  re-arranging  other  people's  minds  for  them, 
making  them  Just  like  Me.  And  one  other  thing 
takes  up  my  time  a  good  deal,  too. — There !  Just  as 
I  thought !  Yonder  comes  your  dad  and  your  broth- 
ers, and  me  with  my  mind  not  yet  made  up  as  to  why 
I  came.  Go  'way!  You  distract  my  attention  so  I 
can't  decide  on  my  story.  Go  help  your  aunt  Jen!" 

"But  what  was  the  other  thing?"  asked  Bennie, 
rising. 

Emil  rose  and  faced  her;  he  took  her  hands.  "I 
have  been  watching  the  Witch  Hills,  Bennie.  They 
are  so  unreal,  so  beautiful,  so  far  away;  they  seem 
somehow  tangled  up  with  some  far-off  wonder  and 
happiness  which  might  come  into  my  life,  some  day. 


132  WEST  IS  WEST 

They  are  not  there,  those  mirage-hills;  but  all  men 
dream  and  say  that  they  picture  forth  nothing  which 
is  not  somewhere  real.  .  .  There  is  somewhere  a 
home  for  you  more  beautiful  and  dear  than  Mock- 
ingbird, Bennie.  .  .  If  you  should  ever  meet  me 
in  the  Witch  Hills,  we  might  find  that  place  together. 
— If  you  only  could,  Bennie  May ! ' ' 

Again  the  grey  eyes  met  the  blue;  and  Bennie 's 
eyes — not  unkindly,  not  untenderly — said  No. 

Now,  was  she  not  strangely  inconsistent,  Bennie 
May  Morgan?  Like  the  rest  of  us? — She  mourned 
Clay  Mundy ;  it  was  for  memory  of  him  that  the  grey 
eyes  said  No.  Emil  knew  what  all  men  knew,  how 
this  girl  had  knelt  in  Luna  churchyard,  for  all  to  see, 
and  kissed  Clay  Mundy,  dead.  What  he  could  not 
know,  what  no  man  knew,  was  that  she  cherished  a 
flower  linked  not  with  Mundy  but  with  the  memory 
of  that  other  man  who  was,  presumably,  the  slayer 
of  Mundy.  Presumably;  no  man  knew  or  guessed 
the  truth.  Or,  if  there  were  three  who  guessed,  they 
had  best  reasons  for  silence.  The  man  Hamerick 
had  disappeared  like  a  stone  cast  into  the  sea.  His 
two  guilty  confederates  stood  between  suspicion  of 
a  double  murder  on  the  one  hand  and  the  wrath  of 
the  Morgans  on  the  other. — And  Bennie  May  Mor- 
gan? Did  she  half -divine  something  which  she  would 
never  suffer  her  thought  to  shape,  to  half-shape  ?  and 
so,  shielding,  forgive  them  both? 


THE  SPRING  WORK 

vn 

RETURN  OF  THE  NATIVE 

THE  V  CKOSS  T  was  working  the  dayherd.     To- 
morrow the  strays  would  be  travelling  homeward, 
over   many   roads,    and   the    steer-shipping   would 
begin. 

John  Sayles  Watterson,  Jr.,  held  the  N  8  cut,  with 
a  sharp  eye  for  the  thrilling  drama  of  the  roundup, 
when  the  dust  curtain  raised  enough  for  sight.  Cir- 
cling the  herd  were  a  dozen  similar  "cuts,"  each  per- 
taining to  a  different  brand,  each  keeping  about  the 
same  distance  from  its  neighbors  and  from  the  main 
herd.  To  them,  at  short  intervals,  cattle  streamed 
out  of  the  dust,  singly  or  by  twos  or  threes ;  at  times 
a  resolute  steer  broke  for  liberty,  to  be  circled  back 
by  a  swift  horseman,  or  roped  and  towed  back,  at 
need. 

Behind  was  the  infinite  expanse  of  rolling  plateau ; 
before  him  John  Sayles  saw,  first  the  wagons  at  the 
camp,  then  the  white  walls  of  Ridgepole  huddled  at 
the  end  of  Magdalena  mountain;  higher,  the  mines 
and  the  roofs  of  Kelly  bright  against  the  blue  slope ; 
eastward  to  Limitar  mountain,  the  broad  mesa 
plunged  reckless  down  the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande ; 
beyond  was  the  flat  sunlit  mesa  and  the  far,  dim  line 
of  Oscura. 

A  horseman  grew  from  the  dust  and  rode  out  to 

133 


134  WEST  IS  WEST 

him :  but  John  Sayles,  busy  with  his  restless  charges, 
had  scant  time  to  look  until  the  rider  was  within  hail. 

"Well,  young  man,  this  is  quite  a  change  from 
Baltimore  and  Washington.  How 're  you  making  it? 

"Mr.  Logan!"  John  Sayles  grasped  eagerly  at 
the  older  man's  hand.  "Let  me  thank  you  for  steer- 
ing me  up  against  all  this.  When  did  you  come? 
Today?  Gee,  I'm  glad  to  see  you!" 

"Oh  no,  I  came  a  week  ago,"  said  Logan.  "Been 
to  San  Clemente  and  up  to  the  north  work.  I'm  on 
my  way  back  to  civilization  now.  Hope  you're  ready 
to  go  with  me?" 

The  boy  drew  a  wry  face.  "Not  ready — no,  nix, 
not.  Heap  plenty  good  time.  Besides,  I've  got  so 
I  can  stay  on  a  bucking  horse  every  little  while. 
Learning  to  talk  conversation,  too.  But  I've  got  to 
go,  ready  or  not.  I  promised  the  mother.  So  I'm 
with  you  soon  as  I  see  these  steers  loaded.  And  the 
family,  Mr.  Logan?  They  are  well,  I  trust?" 

"They  are  all  at  Colorado  Springs;  when  I  join 
them  we're  going  to  the  coast,  by  way. of  Yellowstone 
Park — except  Kinks,  who,  I  believe,  intends  to  stay 
where  she  is,  permanently.  She  has  a  burro  as  big 
as  a  black  dog,  and  intends  to  renounce  her  other 
family  ties. ' '  Fond  pride  was  in  his  tone :  you  would 
not  guess  the  empire  builder  of  Broad  Street  and 
Pennsylvania  Avenue.  "Bob  isn't  anxious  to  leave, 
either;  he  is  second  baseman  for  the  twelve  year 
kids ;  very  skeptical  about  geysers  and  the  big  trees. 
You  know — you  played  at  Princeton,  didn't  you?" 

"Two  years,"  said  John  Sayles  proudly — wishing 
that  the  older  man  might  see  his  press  notices.  Of 
course,  he  couldn't  show  them  himself,  but  the  mater. 


RETURN  OF  THE  NATIVE         135 

knew  where  he  kept  them.    Mothers  are  dense,  some- 
times. 

"The  wife  sends  her  regards  and  invites  you  to 
come  with  us.    I  would  have  asked  you  myself,  but 
as  you  know,  an  invitation  is  not  valid  except  it  be 
legibly  endorsed  by  the  wife  or  other  head  of  the  I 
house — among  civilized  folks,  that  is.     Of  course,' 
for  out  here" — Logan  waved  his  hand — "like  my 
invitation  to  the  ranch — that  was  different. ' ' 

"Oh,  it's  awfully  jolly  of  her  and  it  would  be  a 
grand  stunt  to  go.  But  mother  wants  me  to  come 
home. ' ' 

Logan  smiled.  "We'll  wire  your  mother.  It  isn't 
so  much  that  she  wants  you  to  come  home  as  that 
she  wants  to  get  you  away  from  here.  I  happen  to 
know,  for  it  was  I  who  advised  her,  in  a  moment  of 
remorse." 

"Mr.  Logan!  She  ought  to  be  jolly  well  glad  to 
have  me  here. ' '  Here  a  dry  cow  decided  to  visit  the 
herd.  When  John  Sayles  brought  her  back  the  look 
of  incredulous  protest  was  still  frozen  on  his  face. 
"Why  I've  learned  more  about — about  real  things, 
about  being — well,  what  dad  would  have  wanted  me 
to  be — Aw,  leggo,  you're  pulling  my  leg!" 

"No,  I  mean  it.  This  is  the  pit  whence  I  was 
digged — I  know.  You're  young,  your  head  is  full  of  j 
romantic  trash;  you're  in  just  the  right  stage  of  de- 
velopment to  pick  up  ideas  that  will  do  you  an  irre- 
parable harm.  These  fellows  are  ignorant,  uncouth, 
unashamed  and  incompetent — " 

"Come,  I  say  now!  Incompetent!  By  Jove!" 
John  Sayles  fairly  exploded.  "Come  again!  The 
poorest  hand  amongst  them  is  a  miracle  of  efficiency. 


•136  WEST  IS  WEST 

There  isn't  one  of  them  but  goes  at  the  nearest  piece 
of  work  as  if  his  life  depended  on  doing  that  one 
thing  as  well  as  Julius  Caesar  could  do  it.  At  least  as 
well,  and  in  less  time  I" 

"What  do  they  get  by  it?" 

*  *  They  get  by  with  it ! ' '  snapped  John  Sayles. 

"You  evade,"  said  Logan  indulgently.  "I  will 
answer,  then.  Not  enough  to  buy  your  cigars. ' ' 

John  Sayles  was  silent. 

' '  Their  muscles  are  well  trained.  So  far  you  are 
right,"  pursued  Logan.  "But  where  does  it  get 
them?  They  earn  nothing  and  they  learn  nothing. 
So  far  from  using  their  brains,  they  do  not  even  use 
their  muscles  wisely.  For  no  greater  skill,  the  ball 
player  reaps  fame  and  fortune." 

"With  no  more  skill,  and  far  less  pain  and  danger, 
the  prize-fighter  wins  a  fortune,"  answered  John 
Sayles,  promptly.  "  Is  he  the  better  man  I  Is  money 
the  only  test!" 

' '  He  is  the  wiser  man,  at  least.  That  is  exactly  the 
point.  These  fellows  sacrifice  everything  else  so  they 
can  go  their  own  way  just  as  they  please  and  keep 
their  so-called  'independence' — with  no  provision 
for  the  future.  They  will  not  accept  orders " 

"I  have  been  here  two  months,  and  I  have  not 
heard  an  order  given  yet,"  said  John  Sayles  dryly. 
"Every  man  knows  what  to  do  and  when  to  do  it. 
He  does  it  without  orders.  And  every  man- jack  of 
them  tries  to  do  it  first!  Is  that  a  fault?  Why,  if 
you  had  men  who  would  do  that,  you  would  hold 
them  invaluable.  And  independence?  Since  when 
has  that  been  a  crime?  Isn't  self-respect — even  ex- 
aggerated self-respect — better  than  the  cringing  ob- 


RETURN  OF  THE  NATIVE         137 

sequiousness  of  our  tip-takers  ?  Money  be  jiggered ! '  ' 
John  Sayles  rolled  up  his  eyes  in  sudden  piety.  "The 
Coney  Islanders  are  a  feeble  folk,  but  they  roll  in  the 
rocks!"  he  said  solemnly.  "Me,  I  like  the  waddies 
better. " 

"The  foreman,  even,  don't  get  enough  to  pay 
your  monthly  tips,  young  man.  And  they  never  will. 
Look  here,  John — I  was  one  of  these  fellows  myself ; 
but  with  more  brains  and  more  ambition,  I  hope. 
When  the  Mexican  Central  was  built,  I  saw  a  chance 
and  risked  everything  on  it.  I  took  a  sub-contract 
under  Joe  Hampson.  That  was  my  start;  and  I 
never  took  a  step  back.  I  tried  to  get  some  of  the 
very  men  who  are  here  to-day  to  go  in  with  me  on 
that  contract.  Would  they  do  it?  No!  They  pre- 
ferred to  gamble " 

"We  will  skip  the  gambling, "  announced  John 
Sayles,  "and  the  cow  stealing." 

"Touch"!  said  Logan  gaily.  "As  you  so  deli- 
cately do  not  say,  I  have  gambled  for  the  highest 
stakes — and  won.  Say  then,  that  they  were  foolish 
to  gamble  and  lose.  Say,  if  you  prefer  it,  that  they 
are  foolish  to  play  fair  against  opponents  who  do 
not  play  fair.  They  are  stupid,  stubborn,  these  men. 
Magnificent  animals — no  more." 

"Is  fair  play  nothing,  then?  faithfulness?  splendid 
courage  ? ' ' 

"Ah,  courage!"  said  Logan.  "There  we  have  it. 
Now  we  touch  bottom.  Yes,  they  are  brave,  fearless, 
idiotically  so,  and  aimlessly  so.  For  a  whim,  a  dare, 
—a  dollar  a  day,  to  show  off,  to  catch  a  yearling,  for 
sheer  stubbornness,  for  no  cause  at  all,  they  risk  life 
and  limb  a  dozen  times  a  day.  That  is  what  wins 


138  WEST  IS  WEST 

your  young  affection.  Young  man,  young  man!  It 
is  high  time  you  came  home.  You  have  read  too  much 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  This  is  no  place  for  you.  Courage 
— animal  courage — may  be  an  admirable  quality — " 

" Vegetable  courage  is  a  rare  and  lovely  thing," 
said  John  Sayles.  "Or  is  it  mineral  courage  that 
you  most  admire  ? ' ' 

Logan  ignored  the  interruption.  "Courage  is 
doubtless  an  admirable  quality,  but  it  is  needless  to 
such  men  as  you  and  I.  The  intelligent  civilized  man 
seldom  learns  either  that  he  has  courage  or  that  he 
lacks  it.  We  use  foresight  and  judgment  instead. 
We  pay  our  soldiers  to  do  our  fighting  for  us;  we 
pay  the  hewers  of  wood  to  take  our  risks — sand-hogs, 
bridge  builders,  railroaders,  cowboys,  miners,  the 
thousand  others.  We  profit  by  tunnel  and  bridge, 
railroad  and  mine  and  beef,  but  we  let  these  excel- 
lent, admirable  and  blind  savages  do  the  work  and 
take  the  risks. " 

"I  do  not  like  you  much,"  remarked  John  Sayles 
Watterson,  Jr. 

Logan's  jolly  laugh  rang  out.  He  was  quite  un- 
off ended.  "How  independence  corrupts  good  man- 
ners, John!  I  put  it  crudely  by  way  of  putting  it 
forcibly — to  offset  the  crude  ideas  you  have  adopted 
here.  You  think  it  out  at  your  leisure. ' ' 

"I  cannot  talk  as  well  as  you  do,  Mr.  Logan.  But 
I  am  sure  you  are  wrong." 

"  'Me  hear-rt  rejects  your  evil  counsel*  —  as  they 
say  in  the  second  act. ' '  Logan  laughed  again.  ' '  You 
remind  me  of  poor  Cullom.  Graduate  of  Middleton, 
our  best  engineering  school — brilliant  man — one  of 
the  best  positions  in  the  gift  of  the  I.  C.  C.  for  a 


RETURN  OF  THE  NATIVE         139 

starter.  And  over  on  the  East  Side,  a  gutter-brat 
got  in  the  way  of  an  automobile.  Cullom  jumped  to 
the  rescue.  Result,  one  gutter-snipe  saved  for  crime 
or  misery  or  both;  one  first  class  man  crippled  for 
life." 

"It  seems  tough,  at  that.  But  suppose  that  child 
had  been  Kinks'?  I  make  the  suggestion  with  diffi- 
dence, because  of  the  term  gutter-brat.  It  was  your 
word  and  not  mine ;  which  cheerful  thought  embold- 
ens me  to  mention  Kinks.  And  parents  of  gutter- 
brats  have  words  of  their  own  to  describe  such 
fortunate  children  as  Kinks  —  words  quite  as  ugly 
and  senseless  as  gutter-brat.  So  I  proceed.  Sup- 
pose that  inconsiderate  child  had  been  Kinks  ? ' ' 

Logan  frowned.  "It  could  not  have  been  Kinks. 
Kinks  is  watched  and  guarded  every  hour  of  her 
life." 

"Yet  that  child  was  Kinks  or  Bob  to  someone," 
insisted  John  Sayles. 

Logan  waved  the  notion  aside  with  an  angry  hand. 
"Nonsense !  Those  people  are  mere  two-legged  ani- 
mals. John  Sayles,  John  Sayles !  Men  like  you  and 
Cullom  are  not  free  to  choose.  You  are  reared  to 
be  leaders  of  men.  Years  of  toil  and  care  are  lav- 
ished on  your  training — you  have  absolutely  no  right 
to  even  yourself  with  the  scum  and  off-scourings  of 
the  earth.  You  are  like  the  Man  with  Ten  Talents ; 
much  shall  be  required  of  you.  If  Cullom  had  been 
married  and  had  children  —  even  then,  you  would 
think  it  was  his  duty  to  fling  away  his  life  for  a 
notion,  I  suppose?" 

' '  Mr.  Logan,  you  can  out-talk  me.  I  shall  fall  back 
on  quotation.  It  was  Brann  of  Waco  who  said  this 


140  JVEST  IS  WEST 

word  concerning  children,  and  I  think  it  covers  the 
case : — 'Better  to  die  in  the  faith  that  they  were  sired 
by  freemen,  than  to  live  in  the  hateful  knowledge 
that  they  were  spawned  by  slaves.'  And  these  men 
that  you  despise  are  freemen.  They  are  free  to 
choose ;  the  choice  you  deny  to  Cullom  and  to  me. ' ' 

"Young  blood,"  said  Logan,  his  face  darkening. 
"Oh,  very  generous,  very  highminded — but  it  won't 
work  out.  The  world  to-day,  and  all  it  has  to  give, 
is  for  enlightened  selfishness — for  the  Obennann,  if 
you  please.  You  will  see  differently  ten  years  from 
now,  when  you  are  under  bond,  when  you  have  given 
hostages  to  fortune.  But  today  you  bear  me  hard, 
I  admit  it;  you  and  the  outworn  thought  you  speak 
for." 

Katy,  Logan's  pony,  grown  gray  in  the  service, 
was  aggrieved  at  his  inglorious  station.  He  pawed 
and  twisted ;  he  cocked  ear  and  eye  at  the  straining 
herd  where  his  heart  was.  Once, — oh,  long  ago  and 
long  ago ! — Katy  had  been  pet  and  pride  of  the  Bar 
Cross,  far  to  the  southward.  They  still  tell  of  the 
loot  which  changed  hands  on  a  wager  as  to  which 
could  soonest  cut  out  fifty  steers  of  the  same  brand, 
Katy,  or  the  Tom  Eoss  Baldy  horse.  Katy  won  by 
a  single  steer. 

"Here's  a  sample,  this  Katy  horse,"  said  Logan 
bitterly.  '  *  I  ride  him  because  he  is  safe  and  sensible ; 
or  I  ride  other  old  and  quiet  horses.  That  is  what  a 
sensible  man  ought  to  do,  a  man  with  a  family  to 
think  of,  a  man  of  years  and  responsibility.  What 
do  I  get  for  it?  Sneers  and  sidelong  glances — rid- 
icule at  the  very  best!"  His  face  flamed  red:  his 
splendid  chest  heaved  with  sudden  passionate  anger. 


RETURN  OF  THE  NATIVE        1411 

"Watterson,  I  was  a  boy  here;  yes,  and  a  man  with 
the  best  of  them.  All  these  years,  I  have  kept  the 
old  ranch  through  a  sneaking  sentimental  affection 
for  the  country  and  the  boys — confound  their  inso- 
lence! But  youVe  not  heard  any  heart-felt  queries 
about  me,  have  you?" 

John  Sayles  had  not,  and  he  had  wondered  at  it. 
"But  no  one  has  said  a  word  against  you,  Mr. 
Logan!" 

"No!  That's  it;  they  ignore  me;  I'm  beneath 
their  notice !"  Here  N.  P.  Logan,  the  empire  builder, 
permitted  himself  the  use  of  idle  words.  "  I 'd  rather 
they'd  abuse  me.  Listen:  I'll  tell  you  what  they 
didn't  say.  When  I  was  here  last,  four  years  ago, 
a  foolish,  worthless  ne'er-do-well,  Andy  Connor,  half 
cow-thief  and  half  desperado,  was  riding  a  wild 
horse  on  the  rim  at  Blue  Mesa.  You've  been  there?" 

John  Sayles  nodded. 

"His  horse  fell,  his  foot  hung;  they  went  over  the 
edge.  I  was  the  nearest ;  and  because  I  didn't  follow 
and  rope  his  horse  on  that  slide,  I  am  ostracized. 
And  me  with  a  wife  and  two  babies ;  Kinks  was  not 
a  year  old  then.  I  stayed  a  month  after  that.  I 
didn't  get  a  kind  word  or  a  kind  look.  Cold  civility 
from  old  friends ;  slur  and  slight  from  the  rest.  Wat- 
,terson,  I  had  no  right  to  go  down  that  slide!  My 
family  aside,  I  was  the  moving  spirit — yes,  I  may 
say  it,  it  is  true — in  enterprises  wherein  the  savings 
of  thousands,  the  chance  for  work  and  the  entire  well- 
being  of  other  thousands  depended  —  which  would 
collapse  without  me  like  a  card  house,  with  ruin, 
suicide,  misery  and  crime  to  mark  the  wreck. 

'  *  There  was  more  than  even  that  to  consider.    For 


.i42  WEST  IS  WEST 

Connor's  own  sake,  I  had  no  right  to  go.  I  had  not 
roped  for  years,  nor  ridden  hard ;  I  was  not  fit.  Con- 
nor's  horse  was  not  at  top  speed  at  first;  the  slide 
cowed  him ;  he  sidled  and  edged,  he  was  half -minded 
to  climb  back  to  the  top.  Had  I  followed  and  missed 
my  throw,  Connor  would  have  been  dragged  to 
shreds.  Johnny  Dines  went.  He  was  in  practice,  he 
caught  the  horse  at  the  first  cast;  Connor  was  not 
even  badly  hurt.  And  I — I  am  an  outcast  in  the  only 
land  I  really  cared  about,  a  byword  with  the  people 
I  love  best!  I'll  not  stand  it.  I'll  never  come  back. 
And,  I  tell  you  again,  after  four  years  of  thinking  it 
over — I  had  no  right  to  go  down  that  slide. " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SHIPPING  PENS 

"ONE  Box  W,  three  V  Cross  T's,  Square  and 
Compass,  one  K  Y — let  'em  go!"  The  inspector's 
quirt  slapped  sharply  on  his  boot  leg ;  six  steers  slid 
along  the  fence  like  stealthy  ghosts;  the  inspector's 
horse  turned  back  unbidden.  These  three  things  took 
place  simultaneously.  A  fourth  was  on  their  heels. 
"Tally!"  The  word  cracked  like  a  whip.  Street  and 
Horsethief  Fisher,  tally  keepers,  snapped  it  together. 

Tails  aflaunt,  the  steers  streaked  down  the  stock- 
yards lane,  between  the  heavy  timbered  twelve-foot 
fences;  they  flipped  round  a  corner  with  a  kick;  a 
heavy  gate  closed  behind  them ;  a  rider  started  from 
ambush  and  choused  them  on  to  the  waiting-pens. 

The  inspector  paced  soberly  back  with  Cole  Rals- 
ton, the  V  Cross  T  boss,  who  "pushed  'em  through." 
Near  the  gate,  they  crowded  the  inner  fence,  under 
the  dangling  feet  of  spectators  and  amateur  tally- 
keepers.  A  bunch  broke  from  the  pen,  shied,  kicked 
and  scurried  down  the  lane,  two  abreast,  dust-hidden. 
The  inspector  did  not  move. 

' l  One  S  S  Bar,  one  HAM,  one  Hook-and-Ladder, 
one  N  8,  two  V  Cross  T 's  "— "  Tally. " 

A  horse  slipped  on  his  side  in  the  cutting  pen,  and 
rose,  bucking ;  the  herd  charged  for  the  open  gate  of 
the  lane.  Emil  James  and  "Dallas"  McCombs 

H3 


144  WEST  IS  WEST 

thrust  their  horses  into  the  living  flood  and  it  swirled 
back  for  some  magic  of  word  and  waving  hats.  The 
leaders  crushed  down  the  lane ;  Ralston  ' '  strung  'em 
out,"  so  they  dribbled  by  in  a  charging  column 
rather  than  as  a  locked  phalanx.  The  inspector  raced 
beside  them,  barking  crisp  italics. 

"H  G  T,  two  V  Cross  T,  two  Double  Ess  Barr,  S  L 
Y,  four  V  Cross  T,  N  8,  K  Y,  Half  Circle  Cross,  76, 
N  U  N,  V  Cross  T,  one  Spur— let  'em  go !  MO-OEE 
STRAW!" 

"Tally!" 

John  Sayles  gasped.  With  all  his  eyes  he  had 
caught  but  one  brand  as  this  wild  mob  thundered  by 
— the  familiar  N  8.  That  was  on  a  steer  he  knew  by 
flesh  marks.  This  last  stage  of  the  cow-work,  like  all 
the  preceding  phases,  was  a  revelation  of  concentra- 
tion, snap,  and  marvelous  efficiency.  To  John  Sayles 
the  wonder  was  less  that  the  inspector  had  not  yet 
read  one  brand  wrong  than  that  he  had  ever  read  one 
right. 

More  straw  came.  "Two  V  Cross  T's,  one  Pig- 
Pen,  SUM,  one  Spur — Hold  'em!  Hold  'em  up!" 
The  gate  crashed  quivering  against  the  timbers. 
"Let  'em  in  the  water-pen.  Gip,  you  and  Spike  climb 
down  off  that  fence  and  get  your  horses.  Throw  that 
pieded  steer  and  see  if  the  brand  hasn't  been  burned 
from  H  0  T  to  B  0  B.  Saunders !— you,  Bill' 
Saunders ! ' ' 

"Present!" 

"Where's  that  BOB  man,  d'yuh  know?" 

"Over  to  th'  saloon,  I  reckon.  Him  and  old  man 
.Gibson  are  hitting  up  the  booze." 

"Go  get  him.    Allri-ight!    Let 'em  come!" 


THE  SHIPPING  PENS  145 

A  head  and  shoulders,  belonging  to  Al  Clemens 
appeared  above  the  outer  fence.  "Hi,  there,  one  of 
you  huskies!  Help,  I  need  it!" 

"Here  I  am!"  said  John  Sayles,  and  walked  the 
plank  which  topped  the  fence,  stepping  over  and 
around  and  on  the  audience.  A  fresh  bunch  of  steers 
stormed  by  to  the ' '  ante-rooms. ' '  As  the  gate  swung 
shut  John  Sayles  made  it  a  bridge  to  the  outer  world 
and  so  became  aware  that  the  gate-keeper  was  using 
expressions. 

"What's  wrong  with  the  world,  Tom-Dick-Bob  ? " 
inquired  John  Sayles.  The  gate  tender  was  young- 
est hand  of  the  N  8,  hence  detailed  to  the  ignominy 
of  this  dull  and  dusty  duty. 

1 '  Wrong  ?  Wrong !  This  gate ' ' — he  described  the 
gate — "is  sagged  so  the  bolt  won't  catch.  That  sec- 
tion foreman" — he  described  the  section  foreman — 
1 '  oughta  bored  another  hole.  Directly  a  car  load  of 
steers '11  surge  up  against  it — and  the  boy,  oh  where 
was  he?  I'll  get  so  complicated  with  that  fence 
you'll  have  to  scrape  me  off  with  a  plane." 

John  Sayles  dropped  into  the  outer  sand  and  raced 
after  Clemens.  "What's  on  your  mind,  Al?" 

Al  pointed.  * '  See  the  big  red  sign  on  the  far  car, 
alone,  down  at  the  end  of  the  side  track?  That  says 
Dynamite,  Danger,  mucho  cuidado!  The  boys  keep 
rolling  cars  down  that  nice  little  slope  as  they're 
loaded,  and  pretty  soon  they're  going  to  bunt  into 
that  giant-powder-go od-by !  I  set  the  brakes  on  that 
flock  of  cars  as  tight  as  I  could  do  it  alone,  but  every 
fresh  car  jolts  'em  a  little  further.  We'll  get  a  hand- 
spike and  all  both  screw  up  those  brakes  till  the 
wheels  think  they're  chained  to  the  rail." 


146  WEST  IS  WEST 

"I  see!"  said  John  Sayles.  "You  don't  want  the 
dynamite  to  explode — is  that  it?" 

"That  is  the  general  idea,  yes,"  admitted  Al,  with 
an  admiring  glance.  "You're  some  quick  in  the  head. 
By  all  good  rights  they  should  have  left  that  car  on 
another  track,  out  of  the  way  of  the  cattle  cars. 
'Spose  some  fool  kid  monkeyed  with  that  brake? 
That  car  would  ride  that  split  switch,  take  the  main 
line,  and  meet  the  Elevator  coming  up  and  bust  her 
headlight.  They  never  ought  to  have  anything  but 
a  stub  switch  in  such  a  yard  as  this,  anyway.  This 
kind  is  a  plain  invitation  for  cars  to  get  out  of  the 
siding. '  * 

When  he  came  back,  John  Sayles  climbed  to  the 
platform  of  the  loading  chutes.  A  car  was  spotted, 
bridge  and  wings  dropped  to  place.  "Eight!" 
shouted  Slim  and  Slick  in  chorus.  The  loading  pen 
gate  swung  open,  two  wild  riders  harried  a  bunch 
down  the  lane.  The  steers  wheeled  madly  into  the 
loading  pen;  followed  relentlessly,  they  dashed  up 
the  steep  chute  to  escape — into  the  car.  The  riders 
tip-toed  sedately  back  for  more.  Sometimes  the 
steers  broke  back  at  the  chute.  But  every  gate  had 
a  keeper,  and  a  gate-keeper's  business  was  to  be 
quicker  than  a  steer.  With  two  horsemen  and  a  half 
dozen  frantic  steers  in  a  loading  pen  little  larger 
than  a  box  car,  John  Sayles  expected  tragedy. 

,  But  horse  and  man  knew  their  business.  Dust, 
broken  glimpses  of  white  horns,  plunge  and  dart  and 
feint  and  twist,  a  bellow  of  rage,  a  shout,  a  sharp 
crack  of  quirt  on  "chaps,"  long  tapideros  slapped 
on  charging  heads,  parry  of  booted  foot  at  last  need 
— Ey-ah!  The  last  steers  dashed  up  the  chute. 


THE  SHIPPING  PENS  147 

Where  a  second  ago  was  mortal  combat,  two  horses 
turned  automatically  to  an  automatically  opening 
gate,  two  unmoved  riders  resumed  a  low-voiced  con- 
versation as  they  paced  quietly  along  the  lane. 

1  'Hear  Nate  Logan's  back  again." 
,     "Yes.    Ain't  you  seen  him?    He's  been  here  quite 
a  spell." 

"Nope.    I  been  presenting.     Got  in  last  night." 

"He  resembles  himself  a  heap." 

"Oh,  well,  you  needn't  be  abusive."  Further  re- 
proof faded  to  indistinct  murmur. 

The  last  speaker  was  Mr.  Steve  Thompson,  "Wild- 
cat" Thompson  of  campfire  tales;  and  John  Sayles 
quoted  happily  to  himself: 

"He  was  a  most  sarcastic  man,  this  quiet  Mr. 

Brown, 

And  on  several  occasions  he  had  cleaned  out 
the  town." 

Sometimes,  however,  the  steers  would  stubbornly 
refuse  to  enter  the  narrow  chute  for  any  equestrian 
inducements.  Then  the  horsemen  escaped  miracu- 
lously through  the  gate ;  Slim  and  Slick,  with  a  vol- 
unteer appanage  of  ambitious  Ridgepole  youth, 
dropped  into  the  pen  afoot  and  "fought  'em  in"  with 
prod-poles.  It  was  more  exciting  than  the  preferred 
method,  but  really  safer,  for  in  extremity  a  man 
could  climb  the  fence  to  safety.  Few  cow-ponies  can 
do  this.  But  loading  "by  hand"  was  slower  and  used 
only  as  a  last  resort. 

In  the  cutting  pen  the  steer  supply  ran  low.  John 
Sayles  walked  the  fence  to  the  enthralling  sport  of 
watching  the  inspector  read  brands  ere  it  was  ever- 
more too  late. 


148  ,WEST  IS  WEST 

A  gusty  puff  of  wind  swooped  his  hat  into  the 
lower  lane;  a  twenty  ton  missile  of  panic-stricken 
beef  crashed  against  the  gate.  Tom-Dick-Bob  was  a 
grand  little  man,  but  he  did  not  weigh  twenty  tons. 
The  gate  opened  suddenly.  Tom-Dick-Bob  was  not 
caught.  Clear  of  the  gate  and  cattle,  he  hung  along 
the  wall,  making  futile  remarks.  How  he  got  there 
is  not  known.  The  cattle  surged  on  blindly,  over- 
threw the  inspector,  swept  over  him ;  the  cutting-pen 
gate  swung  shut;  they  raced  on  and  smashed  to  a 
halt  against  the  outer  gates,  double  and  chained. 

Inspector  and  horse  scrambled  up  unhurt.  From 
the  fence  top,  Logan  spoke  to  Tom-Dick-Bob,  spread- 
eagled  on  the  side  of  the  fence. 

"Riley,  if  you  can't  do  the  work,  I'll  send  Gome 
one  down  that  can." 

For  a  breath  Tom-Dick-Bob  hung  open-mouthed 
on  the  fence,  dazed  by  his  wrongs.  He  dropped 
down,  closed  the  gate  and  found  speech  to  declare 
himself. 

;<You  yellow  dog — "  the  words  came  slow  and 
clear— ' 'I'll  hold  this  gate  till  the  last  steer  goes. 
And  you  don't  fire  me.  I  won't  be  fired.  I  work  for 
you  one  year  from  today,  Nate  Logan — and  I  draw 
my  pay.  No  crawling  thing  like  you  can  run  it  over 
me  for  not  being  able  to  out-push  a  carload  of  steers. 
Now  you  go  to  the  hotel  and  stay  there !" 

In  a  dead  silence  Logan  looked  down  at  his  wrath- 
ful employee,  turned  and  left  the  stock  yards.  No 
man  looked  after  him. 

'em  come!"  said  the  inspector. 


CHAPTER   IX 

" ABOVE  ATT.  WISDOM  AND  ALL  SUBTLETY7' 

RIDGEPOLE  BBANCH  appears  on  the  map  as  a 
straight  spur,  sticking  out  from  the  El  Paso  line 
like  a  sore  thumb.  This  is  an  understatement. 

Ridgepole  is  indeed  the.  western  and  heavenward 
end  of  the  line,  and  Saragossa  is  at  the  other  end. 
But  it  is  not  a  straight  line. 

The  narrow-gauge  between  Clifton  and  Metcalf, 
in  Arizona,  is  the  longest  line  between  two  given 
points.  Thirty-five  miles  of  track  make  ten  miles 
actual  distance;  and  a  slight  rise.  Ridgepole  spur 
is  comparatively  straightforward.  It  requires  only 
thirty-one  miles  (or  twenty-seven)  to  accomplish 
sixteen  miles  of  westing.  Because  of  the  curves,  one 
rail  is  shorter  than  the  other ;  the  twenty-seven-mile 
side. 

Lay  a  piece  of  paper  on  a  common  washboard; 
give  your  neighbor's  six-year-old  a  pencil  held  in  a 
pair  of  tongs ;  ask  him  to  shut  his  eyes  and  draw  a 
very  long  capital  S  on  the  paper.  Turn  the  paper 
with  the  pencilled  mark  from  yon  and  hold  it  to  the 
light.  What  you  will  see  will  be  a  fairly  accurate 
map  of  the  Ridgepole  road. 

It  is  steep,  too — Ridgepole  Branch.  It  is  said  that 
when  the  road  was  first  opened  a  light  engine  could 
not  get  up  the  hill  without  a  pusher. 

Four  per  cent,  is  generally  reckoned  a  stiff  grade. 

149 


150  WEST  IS  WEST 

Eidgepole  percentages  fluctuate  from  usury  to  con- 
fiscation, consistent  only  in  this,  that  there  is  some 
rise  for  every  rail  from  the  main-line  frog  at  Sara- 
gossa  to  the  final  spike  at  Kelly.  There  is  a  five- 
mile  switch-back  from  Ridgepole  to  Kelly  smelter  so 
steep  that  the  engine  only  takes  np  one  car  every  two 
trips. 

There  is  one  mixed  train — "The  Elevator."  It 
makes  the  round  trip  once  daily,  oftener  if  required. 
On  rare  occasions  another  engine  comes  up  from  San 
Marcial  to  help  with  stock  shipments.  Exports  are 
cattle,  sheep,  wool,  hides,  horses  and  ore;  imports, 
food,  playing  cards  and  school  ma'ams. 

Near  the  track,  at  Five-Mile  Cut,  rode  the  V  Cross 
T  men  and  a  few  other  men  from  the  high  country; 
the  skeleton  of  the  round-up  crew.  New  flesh  for 
those  bones,  in  the  shape  of  other  "stray  men," 
would  appear  when  the  work  started  again  on  the 
river.  And  when  the  river  was  worked — a  mere  strip 
some  ninety  miles  by  twenty  —  the  spring  rodeo 
would  break  up.  Cattle  are  not  worked  in  the  hot- 
weather  months. 

It  was  late  afternoon.  The  steers  were  loaded, 
ready  for  the  Elevator  to  drop  them  down  to  the 
main  line,  but  the  Elevator  was  late.  The  wagon  had 
long  since  gone  to  Water  Canon  with  the  horse  herd ; 
some  of  the  boys  were  staying  in  Ridgepole  for  the 
night ;  the  rest  rode  slowly  down  the  trail  which  cuts 
across  the  long  curves  of  the  railway  like  the  bars 
on  the  dollar  mark  "  S. ' ' 

Logan  and  John  Sayles  rode  a  hundred  yards  in 
advance.  They  threaded  the  huddle  of  hills  below 
town  and  came  out  on  a  tip-tilted  world  where  the 


ABOVE  WISDOM  AND  SUBTLETY    151 

uplands  began  the  roaring  plunge  to  the  river.  It 
is  not  absolutely  claimed  that  South  America  once 
slid  away  from  that  wild  moraine ;  but,  had  it  hap- 
pened, the  scarred  and  gullied  track  would  have  been 
not  otherwise;  bare,  desolate  and  glaring,  heaped 
with  gray  boulders,  studded  with  stubborn,  earthless 
and  glassy  hill. 

For  a  space  the  trail  paralleled  the  railroad  track 
as  it  came  back  from  a  little  exploring  trip  to  the 
north  and  gathered  breath  for  the  Toboggan.  Thus 
far  from  Ridgepole  the  track  sloped  gently ;  the  de- 
tour,  almost  on  a  level,  was  to  avoid  the  stripling 
hills  between;  the  jump-off  began  just  ahead,  with 
a  horseshoe  curve  to  the  left  as  preliminary.  Far 
away  and  far  below  the  Elevator  came  in  sight, 
crawling  from  the  white  cut  above  Water  Canon. 

" It  is  on  a  par  with  the  rest,"  said  Logan.  " Be- 
cause I  act  like  a  reasonable  man,  I  am  treated  like 
a  leper.  By  their  senseless,  topsy-turvy,  neck-or- 
nothing  code,  I  should  have  gone  to  a  finish  fight  with 
young  Riley.  It  makes  no  difference  that  I  am  forty 
pounds  heavier,  that  I  could  break  him  in  two,  that 
Riley  knows  it,  that  they  knew  it,  that  they  know  I 
know. ' ' 

In  the  heat,  a  shrill  cicada  'jarred  on  his  raw 
nerves ;  he  fell  silent.  After  a  little  he  spoke  again. 

4 'As  it  happens,  I  was  wrong;  the  bolts  on  the 
gate  would  not  work.  But  that  does  not  count  one 
feather's  weight  with  my  valorous  judges.  If  Riley 
had  been  wrong,  'twould  be  just  the  same.  To  use 
their  own  phrase,  unless  a  man  will  go  through  with 
whatever  he  begins  'to  the  last  ditch  and  then  some,' 
he's  no  good.  Nothing  else  counts.  He  must  be 


152  WEST  IS  WEST 

ready  to  fight  for  every  reason  or  no  reason — for  a 
foolish  cause  or  a  bad  one."    He  laughed  bitterly. 
1  'To  be  just,  it  is  not  needful  to  win.    They  think 
just  as  well  of  you  if  you  are  licked  or  killed — just 
so  you  demonstrate  that  you  have  more  pluck  than 
brains.     It's  intolerable.     They're  savages.     They/ 
make  a  fetish  of  low  brute  courage;  they  drag  out  a 
poor,  second-rate  virtue  and  make  it  supersede  a' 
hundred  better  qualities.    But  of  course  you  side  in 
with  them. ' ' 

John  Sayles  was  sore  distressed.  "I  see  your 
point  of  view,  Mr.  Logan,  and  I  can  understand  why 
you're  sore.  But  I  don't  think  they're  savages,  and 
I  don't  think  they're  altogether  wrong.  We  can't 
afford  to  despise  this  'brute  courage,'  as  you  call  it. 
It  may  not  be  the  highest  quality,  but  it  is  the  one 
indispensable  quality. — What's  that?" 

It  was  Death.  Swift  and  silent,  the  red-labeled 
dynamite  car  swayed  and  rocked  as  it  gathered  speed 
where  the  track  fell  away  at  the  first  real  hill.  It 
was  almost  abreast  of  the  V  Cross  T  riders  before 
they  saw  it;  what  John  Sayles  heard  was  a  clamor 
of  flying  hoofs.  Only  fifty  yards ;  too  far !  Ralston 
was  nearest.  He  held  his  place,  a  length  ahead,  the 
V  Cross  T  riders  bunched  behind.  He  flashed  up  the 
sidelong  fill,  the  yielding  earth  gave  under  the 
horse's  feet,  held  him  back  for  a  split  second.  Just 
as  the  fingers  of  one  hand  clutched  at  the  iron  ladder, 
his  horse  stumbled  and  rolled  down  the  embankment 
under  his  straining  mates;  they  piled  up  over  him. 
Ralston 's  weight  jerked  out  behind  the  car,  his  free 
hand  grabbed  vainly,  his  desperate  hold  broke,  he 
fell  heavily  on  the  rail  behind  the  car. 


ABOVE  WISDOM  AND  SUBTLETY    153 

John  Sayles  launched  his  horse  like  a  thunder- 
bolt.— Alas,  John  Sayles!  His  mount  was  young, 
spirited,  foolish.  Frightened,  he  lunged,  reared, 
wheeled  away,  pitching.  The  death-car's  gallop  be- 
came a  run.  One  man  was  left — Logan. 

Katy  gleamed  across  the  barrow-pit,  skimmed  like 
a  swallow  up  the  sloping  bank.  Belly  to  earth  he 
ran,  his  wise  feet  on  the  slender  path  between  tie  and 
slope ;  ears  back,  eyes  rolling,  proud,  glorious.  Gal- 
lant Katy !  Never,  even  in  dreams,  had  he  been  sent 
up  against  a  box-car!  The  car  was  at  his  hip  — 
abreast  —  the  red  label  flamed  by  —  Logan's  hands 
scraped  against  the  car-door,  the  side;  they  closed 
in  a  death  grip  on  the  ladder,  his  arms  were  torn 
almost  out  of  their  sockets,  his  foot  thrust  against 
the  saddle — he  was  on  the  ladder ! 

The  car  leaped  at  the  head  of  Toboggan  Slide,  it 
plunged  and  rocked  and  fell  away.  Logan  clung  to 
the  footboard  and  crawled  to  the  front  end.  The  car 
whirled  into  Horseshoe  Bend  as  he  grasped  the 
brake  and  stood  up.  His  blood  tingled  hot  and  proud, 
a  singing  wind  was  in  his  ears.  He  turned  the  brake 
to  the  limit  of  his  strength.  It  might  be  said  that 
the  car  went  no  faster — that  was  all.  He  braced  his 
boot  heels  against  the  running-board,  he  threw  all 
his  weight  out  in  front,  his  body  hanging  over  blank 
and  whirling  space.  One  notch !  Another !  He  fum- 
bled the  pawl  into  the  ratchet  with  his  toe,  and  drew 
back  to  rest,  every  muscle  a-tremble.  The  jerking 
ladder  had  wrenched  his  arms,  their  strength  failed. 
Again  he  threw  his  weight  out  above  dizzy  nothing- 
ness—  this  time  with  his  knees  bent.  Slowly,  he 
straightened  the  powerful  toggle-joint  of  the  knees.. 


154  WEST  IS  WEST 

Another  notch !  Once  more,  this  time  with  arms  and 
back  and  knees  straining  together  in  a  last  desperate 
effort.  Another  notch ! 

The  track  wheeled  round  in  the  deep  shadow  of 
Horseshoe  Hill.  He  could  do  no  more.  The  car  went 
a  little  slower — that  was  all. 

It  was  not  all!  Again  that  singing  wind  made 
flaming  music  to  his  ears.  The  V  Cross  T  would 
race  across  the  neck  of  the  horseshoe  and  be  there 
before  him.  There  would  be  help,  in  time.  The  east 
side  of  Horseshoe  Hill  was  impassable.  That  would 
not  stop  the  V  Cross  T.  What  these  men  started, 
they  carried  through — to  the  last  ditch,  and  then 
some!  He  did  not  think  it — every  drop  of  his  thrill- 
ing blood  knew  it,  and  rejoiced  at  it,  thanked  God 
for  it! 

He  shot  from  the  black  shadow  into  a  flaming 
world.  Far  ahead,  he  saw  the  V  Cross  T  pour  in  a 
living  flood — the  splendid,  the  strong-hearted — over 
the  black  lava  wall,  cliff  and  boulder  and  crumbling 
rock-heap.  (It  cannot  be  done.  But  eleven  men  and 
twelve  horses  did  it,  unhurt.  For  Katy  came.)  Nate 
Logan  saw  that  there  would  scarce  be  time.  Once 
more  he  threw  himself  upon  the  brake — arms  and 
legs  and  back  and  heart  and  soul. — Another  notch  I 
I  He  clung  blindly  to  the  brake  wheel. — A  hand  was 
/laid  beside  his.  "Let  us  spell  you  a  while,  old- 
timer,"  said  Tom-Dick-Bob.  Emil  James  came  be- 
hind, his  face  serenely  meditative  and  casual.  These 
two  fought  the  brake  together;  the  car  ground  to  a 
stop.  Al  Clemens  raced  around  the  next  little  curve 
to  slow  up  the  Elevator. 

"Here's  your  horse,  Nate,"  said  Milt  Craig,  as 


ABOVE  WISDOM  AND  SUBTLETY    155 

Logan  came  down  the  ladder.  ''Lost  your  hat?  Oh, 
well,  we  don't  want  to  go  back  for  it.  We'll  borrow 
a  sunbonnet  for  you  at  Water  Canon.  Let's  drag  it. 
We  don't  want  no  chatter  with  these  railroads." 

The  Elevator  clanked  by,  slowing  up  to  make  gen- 
tle coupling.  John  Sayles  looked  back  over  his 
shoulder  and  gasped. 

Logan  looked.  From  the  window  of  the  single 
coach — a  combination  baggage-mail-express-passen- 
ger car — a  little  girl  leaned  out  and  waved  her  hand ; 
a  woman  bent  above  her,  smiling,  a  hand  on  the 
child's  dress. 

Logan  held  to  the  saddle  horn.  Before  him  Sara- 
gossa  Mountain  reeled  in  golden  mist.  Low  over 
Magdalena  hill  the  sun  broke  through  a  wisp  of  wan- 
dering cloud:  as  if  God  laughed  through  His  tears, 
and  bent  close  in  pardonable  pride  for  that  He  had 
made  from  the  sinning  dust. 

"Kinks!"  said  Nate  Logan. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  CUTTING  GROUND 

"THE  circle"  gathers  cattle  as  a  drag-net  gathers 
fish.  The  meshes  of  it  are  horsemen,  a  mile  or  two 
miles  apart,  according  to  the  lay  of  the  land.  Each 
man  is  responsible  for  all  cattle  between  himself  and 
his  next  neighbor  on  either  hand. 

On  this  day  the  V  Cross  T  drag  had  combed  a 
little  pear-shaped  country  with  twenty-five  miles  as 
the  shortest  diameter.  The  programme  was,  briefly : 
Breakfast  before  day;  catch  horses,  a  brisk  ride  of 
thirty-odd  miles  to  the  pear-butt,  divide  and  scatter, 
bringing  all  cattle  to  the  appointed  roundup  ground 
by  dinner  time:  dinner  by  sections,  and  change  of 
horses ;  work  the  herd  on  the  cutting  ground  through 
the  long,  hot  afternoon. 

In  "working  the  herd,"  the  horsemen,  meshes 
of  the  forenoon,  become  a  living  fence ;  some  become 
gates.  The  company  men  first,  then  each  stray  man 
in  turn,  goes  through  the  herd  and  cuts  out  each  his 
own. 

1  John  Sayles  Watterson,  Jr.,  was  part  of  that  liv- 
ing fence  to-day.  His  return  to  the  maternal  arms 
had  been  postponed  without  date.  Nor  had  Logan 
carried  out  his  coastward  plans.  Instead,  he  had 
taken  his  family  out  to  San  Clemente  and  established 
them  in  Chautauqua.  Logan  himself  was  over  on.  the 
Malibu,  deeper  yet  in  the  wilderness  j  seeking,  report 


THE  CUTTING  GROUND  157 

said,  a  practicable  path  for  a  railroad  to  the  head- 
waters of  the  Gila,  to  tap  the  vast  parallelogram  of 
hinterland  which  lies  athwart  the  Arizona-New  Mex- 
ico border. 

Since  noon  the  never-ceasing  feet  had  tramped  the 
roundup  ground  to  powder.  The  spring  southwest- 
ers  were  blowing.  The  roundup  was  an  impenetrable 
dust-cloud,  from  whose  whirling  center  came  rolling 
mutter  and  steady  uproar — the  complaint  of  a  thou- 
sand protesting  cattle. 

Riders,  dim-flitting,  circled  the  herd;  now  seen, 
now  blotted  out;  perhaps  the  cloud,  thinning  for 
brief  space,  gave  a  glimpse  of  bewildered  eyes  and 
crowding  horns,  white-flashing;  to  be  swallowed  up 
again  in  swirling  tumult.  From  time  to  time  there 
appeared  on  the  cloud-edge  a  slow-moving  cluster  of 
cattle  from  which  a  steer  darted  like  four-footed 
lightning;  lapped  with  him,  nose  to  tail,  a  cutting 
horse  in  eager  escort.  They  zigzagged  in  swift,  un- 
expected angles  like  a  water-skipper  gleaming  to  and 
fro  over  a  sunny  pool.  Flashing,  turning,  as  the 
steer  tried  to  dodge  back,  the  vigilant  cow-pony 
headed  him  off;  still  grumbling  and  garrulous,  the 
steer  hoisted  his  tail  in  token  of  defeat  and  made 
for  the  cut. 

After  cutting  out  the  steers,  the  company  calves 
were  thrown  into  a  separate  cut  and  branded,  then 
the  stray  calves  cut  out  and  branded;  last,  stray 
cattle  were  cut  out,  and  finally  all  cuts  thrown  to- 
gether and  left  in  charge  of  a  half  dozen  unlucky 
men  until  the  day  herd  should  come  in.  The  range 
cattle  were  started  off  and  turned  loose,  breaking  up 
fan-wise  across  the  sand  ridges  into  the  long,  clam- 


158  WEST  IS  WEST 

orous  streaks,  still  running  and  bawling  their  sense 
of  outrage  to  high  heaven.  The  sun  was  low ;  already 
the  day  herd — huge,  unwieldy — was  slowly  tumbling 
over  the  mesa's  edge  toward  the  bed  ground.  Close 
by,  the  wrangler  was  bringing  the  horseherd  camp- 
ward. 

As  the  dust  settled,  little  groups  of  men  became 
visible,  heading  for  the  chuck-wagon  on  the  river 
bank,  where  in  the  lee  of  sheltering  cottonwoods  the 
cook's  fire  blazed  brightly.  Bridle  on  neck,  the 
horses  paced  soberly,  with  much  sneezing  and  shak- 
ing of  wise  heads ;  the  horsemen  brushing  their  hats, 
and  removing  the  handkerchiefs  tied  over  mouth  and 
nose  for  protection  from  the  choking  dust.  Last  of 
all  came  the  Cattle  Inspector  and  Wildcat  Thomp- 
son, deep  in  earnest  converse. 

The  inspector  had  joined  the  outfit  in  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon.  The  V  Cross  T  had  not  seen  him 
since  the  steer-shipping  of  the  West  Work  at  Ridge- 
pole, three  weeks  before — the  day  of  the  runaway 
freight  car  and  the  rehabilitation  of  Nate  Logan. 

"Say,  Mr.  Thompson,"  said  the  inspector,  "there 
was  a  dogie  in  the  pen  up  to  your  ranch  and  the  fel- 
ler there  wasn't  disseminating  no  information  what- 
ever. He  said  you  was  the  editor  of  the  question 
bureau — his  business  was  to  see  that  the  stock  got 
water  and  to  blab  yearlings;  givin'  out  statistics  to 
gratify  idle  curiosity  weren't  no  part  of  his  lay.  He 
had  all  the  symptoms  of  the  malignant  pip.  So  I 
thought  I  would  come  down  and  see  you.  How  about 
it?" 

"Has  it  got  a  Hook-and-Ladder  brand  breaking 
out  on  it  somewhere,  and  its  ears  cut  bias?"  queried 


THE  CUTTING  GROUND  159 

Thompson  lightly.  "  'Cause  if  it  ain't  decorated 
that  way,  it  sure  ain't  mine.  I  don't  run  but  the  one 
brand.— Wasn't  that  dust  rank?  Why,  along  about 
four  o  'clock  a  man  on  the  far  side  of  the  herd  might 
have  stubbed  his  toe  on  the  Rocky  Mountains  unbe- 
knownst." 

The  inspector  flushed.  "Meanin'  that  if  it  wears 
your  brand,  it's  yours,  come  hell  or  high  water? 
Now,  there's  no  use  taking  that  tone,  Steve.  I  ain't 
mistrusting  you  —  stealing  calves  ain't  your  style. 
But  there 's  the  law.  I  got  to  see  you  prove  that  the 
dogie  's  mother  was  yours.  You  know  the  law  as  well 
as  I  do." 

"No  man  shall  keep  a  calf  under  seven  months' 
old,  unless  he  can  produce  the  mother  on  demand," 
quoted  Steve  soberly.  ' '  Or,  should  the  said  cow  have 
the  misfortune  to  be  dead,  he  must  have  the  last  will 
and  testament  of  the  deceased,  signed  by  two  disin- 
terested witnesses,  settin'  forth,  in  the  name  of  God, 
Amen ! — bein'  of  sound  mind  but  failin'  health,  owin* 
to  havin'  been  struck  by  lightnin',  or  eaten  by  bears, 
as  the  case  might  be,  that  she  does  hereby  make,  or- 
dain, publish  and  declare  these  presents,  to  whom  it 
may  concern,  to  wit,  namely :  That  she,  the  aforesaid 
cow,  being  owned  by  her  owner,  subject  to  first  mort- 
gage held  by  Citizen's  Bank  of  Tucumcari,  does 
hereby  give,  will,  bequeath  and  devise  to  said  owner, 
his  heirs,  executors  and  assigns  forever,  all  her  right, 
title  and  interest  in  the  following  named  property, 
to  wit:  The  undivided  four  quarters  of  one  calf, 
located  in  the  South  East  One  Fourth  of  the  South 
West  One  Fourth  of  the  United  States,  and  more 
particularly  described  in  schedule  A,  as  regards  age, 


160  WEST  IS  WEST 

sex,  color  and  disposition,  and  that  she  was  right- 
fully and  legally  seized  of  said  calf?  Sure  thing!" 
He  paused  for  breath. 

"Further,"  he  recited  glibly,  "any  one  violating 
the  provisions  of  this  act  is  liable,  on  conviction,  to 
a  term  of  eleven  months  in  county  jail  or  peniten- 
tiary, or  a  fine  of  five  hundred  dollars  to  one  thou- 
sand dollars,  or  both.  Oh,  I  know  the  law  from  A  to 
Albuquerque !  And  the  calf  is  sold  for  the  Sanitary 
Board  rake-off — to  pay  for  board  meetin's  and  to 
carry  elections  with. '  ' 

The  inspector  expostulated.  "Oh,  well  now, 
what's  the  use  of  getting  hot  under  the  collar?"  he 
said.  "I  suppose,  of  course,  you  can  prove  the 
dogie's  mother  was  yours." 

"  'Prove?'  "  said  Steve  disdainfully.  "  'Prove'! 
You  can  prove  anything  —  if  getting  two  disinter- 
ested parties  to  swear  to  it,  at  five  dollars  per  party, 
is  any  proof.  I  mind  meetin'  Jim  Burleson  in  Lin- 
coln once.  Charged  with  stealing  a  span  of  mules, 
he  was.  "Hello,  Uncle  Jim!'  I  sings  out.  'How's 
your  case  comin'  on?'  'Oh,  that's  all  right,'  he  says. 
' That's  all  right !  No  trouble  at  all.  Got  it  all  fixed 
up.  I  can  prove  that  I  bought  'em  by  half  a  dozen 
good  men.  Jest  one  thing  I  am  worried  about;  I 
don't  know  yet  which  span  of  mules  it  is!'  " 

"Now  look  here,  Steve,"  said  the  inspector  pro- 
testingly.  "Of  course,  I  don't  doubt  that  the  calf's 
yours.  I'm  your  friend.  But  I  got  to  do  my 
duty " 

"Do  your  duty,  then — who's  hinderin'  you?"  said 
Steve.  "But  don't  get  mixed  up  none  about  what 
your  duty  is.  You  don't  consider  it  anyways  part 


THE  CUTTING  GROUND  161 

of  your  duty  to  fine  or  imprison  me  yourself,  do  you? 
That  takes  a  judge  and  jury.  Nor  to  arrest  me?  It 
takes  a  sheriff  and  three  drunk  deputies  to  do  that. 
That's  what  I  elected  a  sheriff  for — to  look  after 
such  things  for  me.  You  ain't  getting  paid  to  arrest 
folks.  You  inspect — and  if  you  see  things  anyways 
bent  or  curved-like,  your  duty  is  to  report  it.  That 
calf  isn't  seven  months  old — its  mother  is  dead  as 
Melchisedek.  I'm  keeping  it  up,  and  raising  it  on  my 
old  milk  cow;  I  won't  produce  no  witnesses  to  prove 
that  its  mother  ever  was  mine.  Why,  if  everybody 
had  to  prove  they  wasn't  ownin*  other  folks'  prop- 
erty, a  title-deed  wouldn't  be  no  more  good  than  a 
rain  check  in  hell!  Now  go  ahead  and  report — but 
don't  you  touch  that  calf!" 

"You'll  get  yourself  in  trouble,  Steve,"  warned 
the  inspector.  "What's  the  use  of  being  stubborn? 
You  don't  want  to  defy  the  law.  A  good  citizen  ought 
to  uphold  it." 

"Don,"  said  Steve,  more  seriously,  "a  man  that 
keeps  a  foolish  law  is  only  a  fool — but  a  man  who 
doesn't  break  a  wicked  law  is  knave  and  coward,  or 
both,  and  fool  besides.  Your  law  is  foolish ;  the  open 
range  don't  average  one  man  to  every  ten  miles 
square.  But  cows  die  dead,  whether  you  've  got  wit- 
nesses or  not.  It's  hardly  exaggeratin'  to  say  they 
all  die,  sooner  or  later — cows  do.  Leastways,  I  never 
seen  none  that  didn't  die  once — sometime  in  their 
lives.  And  the  rains  don't  begin  till  July;  the  calf 
harvest  comes  before  that  when  the  grass  is  shortest 
and  driest;  right  then  is  when  most  cows  die;  it's 
exactly  the  cows  with  calves  that  have  the  best  chance 
to  die.  You  lose  your  cow  by  act  of  God,  your  calf 


i62  WEST  IS  WEST 

by  act  of  Legislature.  You  got  no  right  to  save  the 
calf — unless  you  keep  two  disinterested  witnesses 
under  pay  ridin'  with  you  all  the  time. 

"It's  a  wicked  law.  The  Bio  Grande  is  in  flood, 
calving  time;  when  it  goes  down,  it  leaves  great 
stretches  of  mud  and  quicksand;  the  lakes  are  dryin' 
up;  hundreds  of  cows  bog  down  and  die  every  day, 
leaving  bright-eyed,  pink-nosed  calves  makin'  anx- 
ious and  pointed  inquiries  concernin'  breakfast. 
'Taint  no  difference  whose  they  was.  When  a  man 
finds  one  he's  either  got  to  take  it  home  across  his 
saddle  for  the  kids  to  raise,  or  else  shoot  it.  He 
can't  leave  the  poor  little  trick  to  starve — a  man 
can't — law  or  no  law." 

"Yes,  but  there's  lots  of  thievin'  goin'  on,"  the 
inspector  interposed.  "Cuttin*  young  calves  off 
from  their  mammies. ' ' 

"Prove  it,  then — prove  it  and  punish  'em,"  said 
Steve.  "No  self-respectin'  cow-thief  'ud  do  a  thing 
like  that.  The  union  'ud  take  away  their  cards  too 
quick.  Such  dirt  ain't  man-size.  If  you  prove  it  on 
me,  give  me  all  the  law  calls  for,  and  take  my  tobacco. 
But  don't  try  it  without  proof.  I'll  secede. 

* '  This  law  proposes  to  put  the  burden  of  proof  on 
the  stoop-shouldered  white  man — make  him  prove  he 
is  innocent.  Man  wouldn't  mind  doin'  that  if  he  was 
guilty,  but  when  he  ain't,  it  annoys  him.  Talk  about 
it's  bein'  unconstitutional — why,  it's  plumb  unhy- 
gienic! It's  contrary  to  bedrock  principles  of  com- 
mon law — and  common  sense,  too,  which  is  a  damn 
sight  more  important.  I  got  no  thin'  against  you, 
Don ;  but  when  you  send  in  your  report,  you  give  the 
Insanitary  Board  my  best  respects  and  tell  'em 


THE  CUTTING  GROUND  163 

Wildcat  Thompson  says  they  can  go  plumb  slap-dab 
to  hell:  that  I  keep  this  calf;  that  they  can't  find 
twelve  men  in  the  Territory  that'll  cinch  me  for  not 
lettin'  it  starve,  and  if  they  fool  with  me  one  little 
bit  I'll  fix  'em  so  their  own  dogs '11  bark  at  'em! 
Why,  if  they  ever  try  to  enforce  such  a  pipe-dream 
as  that,  I'll  rip  that  board  up  into  toothpicks!  I'll 
plow  Santa  Fe  up  and  sow  it  with  salt;  tourists  in 
little  black  caps  '11  be  gettin'  off  the  Pullmans  and 
inquirin'  where  the  capital  used  to  be!" 

''Spare  the  women  and  children,"  implored  the 
inspector.  "  'If,  peradventure,  there  be  any  good 
men.'  " 

Wildcat  grinned.  ' '  Shucks !  No  harm  done  as  far 
as  you  and  me  are  concerned.  I  got  to  catch  my 
night-horse. ' ' 

The  inspector  spat  thoughtfully  as  he  unsaddled 
and  turned  his  mount  in  the  bunch.  ' '  Now, ' '  he  solil- 
oquized, "there  is  one  man  you  could  fall  down  and 
worship  without  sin — for  there 's  nothing  like  him  in 
heaven  above  or  earth  below  or  the  waters  under  the 
earth.  Of  all  the  unruly,  consarned,  contrary  crit- 
ters!" Then  a  smile  broke  over  his  face.  "I'm 
sure  sorry  for  the  Board ! "  he  said. 

By  the  fire  the  busy  cook  hustled  along  the  grub- 
pile.  The  "Bobtail"  guard  had  saddled  their  night 
horses  and  were  off  at  a  gallop  to  relieve  the  day 
herders  and  to  bring  the  herd  to  the  bed  ground; 
to  hold  them  there  till  the  First  Guard  could  eat 
supper  and  take  the  herd.  The  men  who  had  started 
off  the  range  cattle  were  riding  back  slowly ;  the  low 
sun  made  their  shadows  long  and  thin  behind  them ; 
the  wind  died  with  the  dying  day.  The  night  wran- 


1 64  WEST  IS  WEST 

gler  and  the  First  Guard  had  already  caught  and 
tied  their  horses  and  were  eating  "First  Table." 
The  Autocrat  permitted  this  out  of  mere  humanity, 
so  they  could  go  on  duty  and  let  the  day-wrangler 
and  the  Bobtail  come  in  to  supper. 

The  inspector,  deep  in  thought,  watched  the  roping 
out  of  night  horses.  "Now  Steve  never  stole  that 
calf  one  single  time,"  he  pondered.  "Some  girl  must 
have  turned  him  down  good  and  plenty  for  him  to  be 
cravin'  to  lock  horns  with  the  Cattle  Sanitary  Board 
just  for  the  sake  of  entertainment  and  exercise.  My- 
self, I  wouldn't  choose  that  form  of  excitement  any. 
That's  what  I  call  goin*  some.  Now,  if  an  irresis- 
tible force  should  have  a  head-end  collision  with  an 
immovable  body?  Answer:  There 'd  be  some  thin* 
doin'.  I  would  sure  like  to  behold  that  same — some- 
what aloof,  through  a  telescope." 


CHAPTEE   XI 

THE   NIGHT    GUAED 

Two  by  two,  the  eight  men  of  the  Third  Guard 
jogged  melodiously  around  the  herd.  Emil  James 
and  Tom-Dick-Bob  were  paired  off ;  old  man  Gibson 
and  Milt  Craig;  " Dallas"  McCombs  and  Neighbor 
Jones,  representing  the  country  east  of  the  river; 
with  John  Sayles  and  Wildcat  Thompson  for  the  last 
couple. 

The  cattle  were  quiet  now,  and  for  the  most  part 
asleep.  From  before  or  behind,  slow  chanted,  monot- 
onous, interminable  songs  of  doubtful  propriety 
floated  to  John  Sayles ;  or  a  cigarette,  dim  glowing 
through  the  dark,  told  of  his  Comrades-on-Guard. 

Steve  told  John  Sayles  of  his  talk  with  the  in- 
spector. "They  don't  mean  no  harm,  the  Board 
don't,"  he  said  magnanimously.  "Good  old  gran- 
nies. Why,  they  mean  their  fussy  old  laws  to  do 
good  every  time  —  to  put  down  stealin'  and  dirt. 
The  Legislature?  Oh,  it  does  just  as  it's  bid,  like  a 
good  child — if  nobody  don't  bid  higher.  The  Sani- 
tary Board  deals  and  the  Legislature  passes.  The 
trouble  is,  the  Board  appoints  themselves,  spontan- 
eous, like  a  wart  on  a  thumb;  they  ain't  accountable 
to  nobody,  and  they  see  only  one  side,  as  the  dinner 
pail  said  to  the  tramp — their  side.  So  the  butchers' 
law,  the  strays-sale  law,  every  law  bearin'  on  the 


1 66  WEST  IS 

cow  business  has  just  one  effect :  Head  you  off  every 
time.  They  work  unnecessary  hardship  on  the  small 
cow-man  till  he  has  to  work  like  a  steam  sausage- 
grinder  to  make  both  ends  meet. 

"Take  the  maverick  law,  P rinstance.  The  cattle 
business  is  curious.  How  frequent  I  have  explained 
patiently  to  pin-headed  and  inquirin'  tenderfeet,  that 
cattle  don't  grow  in  rows,  like  cabbage,  and  can't  be 
picked  just  when  they're  ripe,  like  apples.  They've 
got  four  legs  apiece,  and  move  from  place  to  place. 
Lots  of  times,  in  the  mountains  and  bosques,  they 
get  so  wild  they  won't  hardly  lick  salt  out  of  your 
hand.  So  they  raise  calves  that  grow  up  unbranded. 
After  they  quit  their  mammies,  these  mavericks  be- 
long to  the  Sanitary  Board.  The  law  says  so. 

"That  is  to  say,  all  your  unbranded  stuff  that's 
swift  enough  to  outrun  you  belong  to  some  one  else. 
Every  long-ear  that  got  cut  off  from  his  mammy 
to-day,  and  was  lucky  enough  to  make  a  get-away, 
belonged  to  the  Board  the  minute  they  hit  the  brush. 
The  law  says  so..  All  sleepers  go  to  the  Board. 
Keeping  the  kitty  for  the  whole  dum  Territory 
makes  a  good  big  rake-off,  and  no  light  or  license  to 
pay  for.  Some  day  they'll  enact  that  all  ring- 
streaked  and  speckled  ones  belong  to  the  Board,  I 
guess.  But  it's  no  matter  —  they  don't  represent. 
It's  only  a  theory. 

4 '  In  practice,  if  a  bunch  of  us  start  up  a  maverick, 
the  man  swingin'  the  fastest  loop  puts  his  mark  on, 
the  rest  of  us  setting  on  the  yearlin's  head,  while  the 
lucky  one  brands  it.  Of  course,  as  a  matter  of  cour- 
tesy, the  man  ownin'  the  range  has  the  preference — 
if  he  catches  the  critter  first. 


THE  NIGHT  GUARD  167 

"And  that's  all  right,  all  right.  But  human  nature 
is  mighty  similar.  From  branding  a  sure-enough 
maverick  to  getting  a  calf  that  has  ambitions  to  be 
one  as  soon  as  his  mammy  weans  him,  is  a  mighty 
short  step,  if  you're  alone  at  the  time.  A  bunch  of 
you  see  a  long-ear  ten  months  old,  take  after  him 
and  waste  him.  Seems  like  a  short  yearlin'  is  the 
hardest  thing  there  is  to  put  your  rope  on,  in  the 
brush.  But  the  next  day  any  one  of  the  bunch  sees 
the  same  calf,  rising  fifteen  months  old  now,  and  he 
doesn't  get  away  none  whatever.  Nor  his  mammy 
ain't  with  him  either,  along  toward  the  last. 

"  Eight  there  is  where  complications  ensue  most 
astonishin'.  If  a  yearlin'  is  caught  wearin'  a  big 
company's  brand,  and  suckin'  a  poor  man's  cow, 
they  throw  it  down  and  burn  a  big  stripe  slaunch- 
wise,  for  a  mistake-brand,  giving  the  poor  man  an 
unmarked  one  to  pay  for  it.  For  the  company's 
brand  is  sacred  and  mustn't  be  barred  out.  But, 
when  they  find  a  calf  wearin'  a  little  man's  brand 
followin'  a  company  cow,  look-see!  The  play  is  to 
put  the  stripes  on  the  man.  That's  different.  It's 
no  'mistake'  now,  just  'mis-took' — short  for  stole. 
It  don't  take  much  education  to  see  that  ain't  hardly 
a  square  deal.  So  we  don't  sometimes  most  always 
run  our  horses  plumb  down  to  tell  the  sheriff  the 
turr'ble  sights  we've  seen,  out  of  town.  Not  always. 

"Havin'  in  mind  these  little  discrepancies  and 
mebbe-so  a  few  more,  we  sorter  overlook  the  law. 
Take  the  yearlings  that  got  away  to-day.  They 
might  have  been  the  Company's,  or  yours,  or  mine, 
or  Sum's,  or  anybody's.  You  can't  tell  now,  unless 
they  get  with  their  mammies  again.  And  they  won't, 


1 68  WEST  IS  WEST 

if  their  mammies  belonged  to  ns  little  stray  fellers — 
for  all  stray  cows  are  taken  along  in  the  herd. 
There's  only  one  thing  dead  sure  about  it.  They  do 
not  belong  to  the  Santa  Fe  Railroad  nor  the  Sanitary 
Board,  nor  yet  to  the  Smithsonian  Institute.  'Cause 
why?  They  ain't  none  of  'em  got  no  cattle  running 
here,  nor  nobody  running  'em.  So  whoever  gets  his 
twine  on  them  mavericks,  their  his'n,  and  no  ques- 
tions asked.  It's  got  to  be  that-a-way.  Human  na- 
ture won't  stand  for  no  laws  confiscatin'  right  and 
left  for  nice  old  gentlemen  livin'  in  town,  with  bay 
windows  on  'em  so  big  they  can't  tie  their  own  shoos. 
They'd  orter  buy  some  cows,  and  look  after  'em,  if 
they  want  any  mavericks  from  this  range. ' ' 

A  browsing  steer  threw  up  his  head,  snuffed  un- 
easily, and  made  a  dash  for  liberty.  The  conversa- 
tionalists hurled  through  the  starlight  and  rounded 
him  back  after  a  brisk  chase.  As  they  resumed  their 
circle,  they  were  close  behind  the  next  couple ;  a  voice 
reached  them,  singing  gaily  to  the  tune  of  Boom-de- 
A: 

"'Way  down  on  the  Tank-te-plank 
Bull-frog  jumped  from  bank  to  bank! 
Tore  himself  from  flank  to  flank, 
Bruised  himself  from  shank  to  shank!" 

"Steve,"  said  John  Sayles,  as  they  fell  back  to 
their  proper  interval,  "aren't  you  afraid  they'll 
make  you  trouble?  You  want  to  remember  that  bull- 
frog. Don't  be  too  ambitious." 

"They  won't  arrest  me,"  said  Steve  confidently. 
"They  dassent  risk  their  little  old  scare-crow  law 
on  a  man  that'll  go  the  route  and  make  a  test  case 
of  it.  It  might  terrify  people  with  a  guilty  consci- 


THE  NIGHT  GUARD  169 

ence  and  bad  digestion  but  it  won't  scare  nobody  with 
bcnes  in  his  spinal  column.  I'm  like  the  feller  was 
about  religion — I'm  open  to  conviction,  all  right,  but 
I'd  like  to  see  any  one  convict  me.  Trouble,  though? 
I  shouldn't  wonder.  My  cattle's  mortgaged  to  De- 
Forest — and  when  the  DeForest  has  chilblains,  the 
Sanitary  Board  rubs  iodine  on  their  feet.  Then 
there 's  two  years '  back  taxes  due.  The  Board  is  all 
peanut  politicians,  and  them  and  their  other  friends 
all  stand  in  with  themselves  right  well.  Guess 
there'll  be  some  few  sparks  flyin'  upwards,  all 
right." 

" Can't  you  prove  ownership  of  that  dogie?" 

"That  calf?  Sure.  His  mammy  got  crowded  off 
a  bluff  and  broke  her  back.  Time  we  gathered  a  car 
of  butcher-stuff  last  winter.  The  whole  outfit  seen 
it." 

*  *  Wouldn  't  it  have  been  wiser ? ' '  John  Sayles 

hesitated.  Steve  took  it  up. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wise  of  a  man  to  stand  still  while 
someone  wrapped  cobwebs  around  him?  Cobwebs 
'ud  hold  him — if  he  stood  still  long  enough.  But  if 
he  stretched  out  his  arm?" 

"What '11  you  do,  then?" 

"I'll  use  a  little  diplomacy.  Here  comes  the  Last 
Guard,  Now  for  one  small,  short  nap." 


CHAPTER   XII 

BELL-THE-CAT 

THE  river-work  was  done,  the  steers  had  been 
shipped  at  Albuquerque;  the  wagon  was  loitering 
home  with  what  Malibu  Flat  and  V  Cross  T  Cattle 
had  been  picked  up  along  the  river,  taking  the  long 
lane  route  west  of  Thief  Mountain,  to  avoid  the  f  arm- 
and- wire-fence  country  along  the  Rio  Grande.  Once 
back  on  the  home  range,  the  rodeo  would  break  up ; 
no  more  work  until  next  fall,  August  or  September, 
according  to  the  rains. 

John  Sayles  meant  to  go  back  to  the  N  8  ranch; 
Emil  had  said  nothing  of  any  new  venture  in  pursuit 
of  happiness,  and  Steve  Thompson  had  already  left 
the  wagon.  Steve  went  to  his  ranch  first;  then  to 
Saragossa,  the  county  seat,  to  adjust  some  business 
matters. 

"Mornin',"  said  Steve  to  the  Tax  Collector. 

The  official  acknowledged  the  greeting  coldly. 

" Thought  I'd  come  over  and  settle  up,"  said 
Steve  pleasantly.  "Say,  you  fellows  got  me  payin* 
on  more  cattle  than  some  of  my  neighbors  that  sell 
fifty  steers  to  my  ten,  and  vote  the  right  ticket. 
However,  I  ain't  beefin'  about  past  favors,  but  this 
year — Lordy!  Why  I've  always  heard  that  the 
quickest  way  to  improve  the  breed  of  cattle  was  to 

170 


BELL-THE-CAT  171 

cross  an  old  Chihuahua  cow  with  a  freight  train,  but 
the  way  they  socked  it  into  me  this  year  you'd  think 
my  herd  was  all  imported  from  Scotland  over  night. ' ' 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.  Talk  to  the  as- 
sessor. It's  none  of  my  business,"  replied  the  Col- 
lector, with  chill  official  dignity. 

"Yes,  that's  right,  too — but  it'll  be  your  business 
when  you  come  to  collect  this  year's  taxes.  But, 
shucks !  What's  the  use  of  borrowin'  trouble?  Lots 
of  water  will  run  under  the  bridge  before  they  be- 
come due — to  say  nothin'  of  bein'  paid." 

The  Collector  looked  up  from  his  desk.  "Your 
taxes  with  penalty  amount  to  one  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  dollars  and  thirty-six  cents,"  he  said, 
in  condemnatory  tones.  *  '  I  have  written  to  you  sev- 
eral times,  Mr.  Thompson." 

Steve  laughed  pleasantly.  "You  know  what  the 
Irish  butcher  told  the  doctor?  'Waal,  Waal!  For- 
rty  dollars  fir  midicine  and  f or-rty  dollars  fir  bafe ! 
Isn't  it  odd?'  Would  you  mind  if  I  take  one  of  my 
chairs?  I'm  tired  standing."  He  sat  down  without 
waiting  for  an  answer. 

"Your  chairs?"  Neither  glance  nor  tone  was 
polite.  The  Collector  thoroughly  disapproved  of 
Thompson's  existence,  and  being  in  his  own  yard, 
took  pains  not  to  conceal  it. 

"Well,  I  guess  mebbe  I  didn't  state  that  just 
right, ' '  admitted  Steve  handsomely.  *  *  Ought  to  have 
said  'our'  chairs,  seein'  as  you're  a  citizen  too."  He 
unrolled  a  bundle  and  counted.  * '  Here 's  seven  moun- 
tain lion  scalps,  and  one  bear  scalp,  at  twenty  dollars 
each.  Gimme  a  receipt  and  I  pay  you  the  seven 
thirty-six  difference." 


172  WEST  IS  WEST 

The  Collector  frowned  heavily. 

"We  don't  do  business  that  way — hardly.  You 
plank  over  the  cash.'* 

"0 — and  then  you  hand  it  back  again  for  my 
scalps?  I  see!"  said  Steve  innocently.  "If  you 
want  to  be  the  party  of  the  first  part,  why  not?  It's 
only  a  little  vanity — not  worth  quarreling  over. ' ' 

"You  pay  over  that  money,"  demanded  the  Col- 
lector, flushed  and  angry.  "The  Commissioners  '11 
give  you  scrip  for  your  scalps.  There's  no  money  in 
the  treasury  to  pay  bounties  with.  All  we  have  is 
set  apart  for  other  purposes." 

"Both  in  the  same  boat,  by  George!"  Steve's 
tones  were  dulcet  and  sympathetic.  "No  money  in 
my  treasury  either — not  to  pay  taxes  with.  What 
money  I  have  is  set  apart  for  the  purpose  of  settin' 
together  at  a  little  game  down  to  Joe's  place.  That 
what  you  keepin'  yours  for?" 

This  bit  deep.  The  Collector  was  a  known  devotee 
of  the  national  game.  He  was  furious,  but  reticent 
about  expressing  his  emotions.  "Fight  a  buzz-saw 
and  it  a-goin',"  said  the  countryside  of  Wildcat 
Thompson.  Moreover,  the  Collector  feared  the 
puncher's  rasping  tongue.  So  he  swallowed  his 
wrath.  "We  pay  you  in  scrip,  Mr.  Thompson,  hav- 
ing no  money — " 

' '  But  if  I  pay  you  one  hundred  and  eighty  dollars, 
you'll  have  money,  don't  you  see?"  Steve  insisted. 
"Then  you  can  pay  me  for  my  scalps  and  we'll  take 
one  drink  on  me  and  one  on  the  county. ' ' 

The  exasperated  official  chewed  his  mouth.  "No, 
no — you  don't  understand,"  he  said,  wiping  his 
clammy  brow.  "This  money  doesn't  go  into  the 


BELL-THE-CAT  173 

bounty  fund.  There's  a  special  tax  for  that.  We 
give  you  scrip — the  county's  promise  to  pay — and 
you  wait  till  we  have  the  money  or  you  sell  the  scrip 
for  what  you  can  get  for  it." 

"0,  if  you  put  it  that  way,"  said  Steve,  gener- 
,ously.    "  Nobody  wants  to  jump  on  a  county  when 
it's  down.    Give  me  your  little  old  scrip." 

"The  Commissioners  give  you  the  scrip,"  ex- 
plained the  Collector  indulgently — inwardly  con- 
gratulating himself  on  having  brought  this  difficult 
person  to  see  reason.  "My  part  is  to  receive  taxes 
from  you,  for  instance. ' ' 

"I'll  just  give  you  scrip,"  said  Steve. 

"You'll  what?"    The  last  word  was  screeched. 

*  *  Give  you  scrip.  You  can  keep  it  till  I  have  money 
not  set  aside  for  other  purposes — or  you  can  sell  it 
for  what  you  can  get  for  it ! " 

Speechless,  the  Collector  glared  at  this  persistent 
and  impracticable  taxpayer.  He  made  more  motions 
with  his  mouth,  but  no  more  words  came. 

"Wait!"  he  squealed  at  last.  "Wait  till  I  get 
back!" 

He  reappeared  shortly,  followed  by  Commission- 
ers, Assessors,  Treasurer,  County  Clerk,  District 
Attorney,  some  assorted  politicians,  and  Santiago 
Padilla,  sheriff.  Low-browed  was  the  sheriff,  with 
a  heavy  brutal  face — a  *  *  Killer ' '  with  a  record.  They 
filed  in  awkwardly,  each  waiting  for  someone  to  be- 
gin. Steve  kept  his  chair. 

"Take  a  seat,"  he  said  sweetly,  with  a  patron- 
izing wave  of  hand  and  cigarette. 

It  was  "Johnny-the-Slick"  who  spoke  up;  Chair- 
man of  the  Commissioners,  also  member  of  the  Sanir 


174  WEST  IS  WEST 

tary  Board,  and  Facile  Princeps,  or  Easy  Boss 
of  the  territory.  He  wa,s  singularly  unlike  Steve's 
word  picture  of  the  "fussy  old  grannies"  of  the 
Sanitary  Board;  an  upstanding,  broad-shouldered, 
muscular  man  of  forty,  with  a  shrewd  face  and  keen 
though  furtive  eyes,  and  with  the  square  chin  said 
by  its  possessors  to  indicate  determination.  A  born 
wire-puller,  of  cool  temper  and  plausible  tongue,  a 
reader  of  motives,  a  generous  divider,  and — to  give 
everybody  his  due — unquestionably  a  good  friend  to 
his  friends,  The  Boss  was  a  natural  leader  of  any 
body  of  men — that  could  not  go  without  a  leader.  So 
far,  he  had  never  met  defeat  or  check;  so  his  ad- 
mirers boasted.  He  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  men- 
tal and  physical  manhood,  except  for  mere  details. 
He  was  over-cautious,  for  instance,  lacking  the  bump 
of  indiscretion;  forgetful  of  undesirable  circum- 
stances, absent-minded,  and  easily  confused  about 
portable  property.  Save  for  these  trifling  faults,  his 
equipment  was  admirable. 

He  spoke  oracularly. 

"Now,  Mr.  Thompson,  we  surely  can  settle  this 
little  misunderstanding  without  any  difficulty.  You 
must  obey  the  law." 

"Must  is  a  big  little  word,"  observed  Steve  dryly. 
"The  county  owes  me  one  hundred  and  eighty  dol- 
lars. I  owe  as  much  to  the  county,  and  a  little  more. 
One  debt  cancels  the  other.  I  hereby  offer  the  dif- 
ference, seven  dollars  and  thirty-six  cents  in  cash. 
A  receipt,  please,  or  it's  all  off  with  the  big  Swede." 

"I  can  make  that  perfectly  clear  to  you,  Mr. 
Thompson,"  said  the  Easy  Boss  persuasively.  "A 
special  tax  of  six  mills  on  the  dollar  is  levied  on 


BELL-THE-CAT  175 

stockmen  only,  over  and  above  the  ordinary  tax,  and 
from  the  proceeds  of  this  all  the  bounties  are  paid. 
The  fund  is  now  exhausted,  and  we  are  not  allowed 
to  use  the  other  money.  We  must  pay  scrip. ' ' 

''Very  pretty,"  said  Steve.  "As  it  happens,  I've 
seen  the  scrip  you  issue.  The  law  is  printed  on  the 
back  of  it.  No  bounty  is  to  be  paid  to  men  owing 
back  taxes.  Likewise,  I  pay  no  taxes  to  counties 
owing  me  back  bounty.  I  hereby  unanimously  repeal 
your  laws  and  offer  you  a  perfectly  just  settlement, 
man  to  county,  without  no  law.  If  I  owe  you  a  dollar 
and  you  owe  me  a  dollar,  we're  square.  If  I  owe 
you  one  hundred  and  eighty  dollars,  and  you  owe  me 
one  hundred  and  eighty  dollars,  we're  square.  Not  a 
hundred  and  eighty  times  as  square — just  square. ' ' 

The  Easy  Boss  lost  his  patience.  He  was  not  used 
to  being  thus  lightly  entreated.  For  six  years  he 
had  "carried  New  Mexico  in  his  vest  pocket"  with- 
out inconvenience  to  either.  He  was  not  one  to  be 
set  at  naught  by  a  penniless  puncher. 

'  *  You  got  to  pay ! "  he  sputtered.  ' '  There 's  a  way 
to  make  you  pay.  The  sheriff " 

"You  are  singularly  careless  in  your  choice  of 
words,"  said  Steve,  correcting  him.  "Make  me 
pay?  Make?  ME?  Why,  Mr.  Chairman,  you  can't 
make  me  do  anything !  There  is  only  one  thing  any 
man  has  to  do.  That  is,  to  die.  He  has  the  casting 
vote  on  every  other  proposition  under  the  sun. 
Think  it  over — see  if  I'm  not  right.  What  you  prob- 
ably mean  to  say  is  that  the  sheriff  can  levy  on  my 
property  and  sell  it  for  taxes.  He  might  do  that. " 

"He'll  do  that— he'll  start  to-day!"  bellowed  the 
Easy  Boss,  thus  defied.  ' '  Padilla ! ' ' 


,WEST  IS  WEST 

Padilla  stepped  forward — and  the  county  admin- 
istration thoughtfully  side-stepped,  convenient  to  the 
windows. 

But  Steve  made  no  move.  He  seemed  alarmed. 
"I  mortgaged  my  cattle  a  while  back,"  he  ventured 
timidly. 

"That's  so— I'd  forgotten.  To  DeForest.  He'll 
foreclose  on  you  now.  Sheriff,  you'll  have  to  collect 
from  DeForest." 

"I— I  don't  think  DeForest  will  like  that,"  ob- 
served Steve  doubtfully.  "I  paid  him  off  last  week. 
I  don't  think  he'll  pay  the  taxes — but  he  may  if  he 
wants  to." 

"Sheriff,"  said  the  indignant  and  vindictive  boss. 
"You  will  get  the  necessary  papers  and  attach  this 
man's  cattle  at  once." 

Steve  snuggled  back  in  his  chair  with  shrewdly- 
twinkling  eyes. 

"Really,"  he  said,  indolently.  "It  would  serve 
you  right  to  let  you  send  the  Sheriff  out  to  my  place. 
But  I  don't  hold  no  malice,  so  I'll  explain.  It's  some 
complicated.  Like  a  feller  in  Kay  See  that  wanted 
to  go  to  Sedalia.  Ticket  cost  three  simoleons  and 
he  didn't  have  but  a  two-spot.  So  he  went  to  a  pawn- 
shop and  soaked  his  two-dollar  bill  for  a  dollar  and 
a  half.  Then  he  sold  the  pawn  ticket  for  another 
dollar  and  a  half  and  hit  the  train. ' ' 

The  Collector's  jaw  dropped;  the  First  Citizen, 
with  puckered  forehead,  rolled  his  underlip  between 
thumb  and  finger.  "Now  where  on  earth  did  that 
other  dollar  come  from?"  he  said,  in  a  perplexed 
aside,  to  the  District  Attorney. 

"You'd  better  watch  the  safe,"  returned  that 


BELL-THE-CAT  177 

official  darkly,  and  began  a  suspicious  count  of  his 
fingers. 

"My  problem  in  high  finance  works  just  like  that 
only  different,  backwards,  inside  out,  and  both  ends 
in  the  middle,"  explained  Steve.  "You  see,  I  sold 
my  cattle  to  a  stranger-man,  and  he  shipped  'em 
from  La  Joya.  They're  in  Dakota  or  Idaho  or  I 
dunno,  now." 

"We'll  get  the  money,"  snarled  the  Boss. 

""Well,"  said  Steve,  mildly,  "mebbe  you  will.  But 
I  have  my  doubts.  I  paid  DeForest  off  and  bought 
a  half  interest  in  the  Tanner  cattle  with  the  subtra- 
hend. I  held  out  just  enough  to  pay  all  my  outstand- 
in'  indebtedness,  and  a  little  over  for  diet." 

"We'll  levy  on  the  Tanner  stock,"  shouted  the 
Boss  furiously. 

Steve  shook  his  head  with  a  thoughtful  smile. 

"Why-y,  no— I  don't  think  you'll  do  that,"  he 
demurred  blandly.  "Tanner  came  in  from  the 
Malibu  last  week  and  paid  all  taxes  due  on  the  brand. 
He's  got  the  receipts.  The  incident  is  closed,  and 
I'm  going  to  El  Paso  for  a  little  pasear." 

The  thwarted  and  defied  Dictator  glared  at  the 
passive  figure  in  the  chair.  He  saw  his  prestige  melt- 
ing away,  and  resorted  to  his  last  weapon.  There 
was  nervous  expectancy  in  the  air  and  the  Adminis- 
tration shrank  so  close  to  the  wall  that  they  looked 
like  a  has  relief  in  the  Hall  of  Fame. 

' '  Padilla, ' '  said  the  flushed  and  irate  First  Citizen, 
his  voice  trembling  with  discretion,  "this  man  is 
keeping  up  a  dogie  and  refuses  to  account  for  it, 
defying  the  inspector  and  the  Board.  Arres " 

' '  Wait!   Steady  in  the  boat ! ' '    Mid-word  the  Slick 


178  .WEST  IS  WEST 

One  stopped,  at  the  sharp  command. 

Cat-quick,  Steve  was  on  his  feet;  his  right  hand 
was  in  his  coat-pocket.  He  stood  up  to  the  man  of 
many  dignities.  There  was  a  slight  clicking  sound 
in  the  pocket.  The  Boss  noted  in  this  pocket  a  Shape 
under  the  cloth,  which  held  coat  and  pocket  cocked 
up  at  a  noticeable  angle ;  so  that  the  end  of  this  ob- 
scure Shape  pointed  fixedly  at  the  second  button  of 
the  Commissionarial  vest — the  very  vest  in  which 
New  Mexico  had  reposed  so  long.  On  this  Shape  the 
Boss  fixed  his  eyes,  fascinated,  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  hypnotize  himself;  the  color  faded  from  his 
cheeks. 

' '  You  will  sit  down,  Sheriff.  No  contributory  neg- 
ligence, if  you  please!"  said  Steve  quietly,  without 
glancing  his  way  or  moving  a  muscle.  "And  the 
rest  of  you  do  like  Asher  did  —  abide  in  your 
breeches. ' ' 

It  was  the  decisive  moment — and  Steve  had  used 
well-timed  diplomacy  after  all.  For  Sheriff  Padilla 
was  not  without  a  certain  low  form  of  courage  — 
rather,  an  insensate  lack  of  fear.  Had  the  coat 
pocket  been  turned  his  way  he  would  have  accepted 
the  challenge  without  hesitation.  As  it  was,  he 
obeyed,  bewildered.  His  slow  mind  was  not  equal 
to  the  problem,  and  he  had  no  instructions. 

"I  have  applied  the  Referendum  to  your  laws.  As 
you  see,  I  have  the  Initiative  on  you  also,"  said 
Steve  cheerfully.  "And  now  I  must  ask  you  to  make 
me  out  a  receipt  in  full  for  my  taxes.  Like  the  man 
in  the  Bible,  because  of  my  opportunity  you  will  give 
it  to  me — or  else  send  for  the  absent  official,  who 
really  is  indispensable  to  such  a  gathering.  I  won- 


BELL-THE-CAT  179 

der  at  your  lack  of  foresight  in  not  bringing  him  at 
first." 

Now,  all  the  officials  were  there  present  except  one 
— the  Coroner.  The  allusion  was  not  lost ;  the  receipt 
was  made  out  in  hasty  silence.  With  his  left  hand 
Steve  threw  the  bundle  of  scalps  on  the  desk. 

"And  now,  gentlemen,"  he  said  politely,  "you, 
may  not  be  aware  of  the  fact,  but  you  have  in  your 
midst,  in  my  humble  person,  the  Boy  Orator  of  the 
Rio  Grande,  the  only  original  silver-tongued  siren 
from  Cibola,  the  Eeformer  of  the  Rockies,  the  Pa- 
triot of  the  Prairies,  the  Man  behind  the  Muck  Eake 
— old  Vox  Populi  himself.  I  am  sorely  tempted  to 
deliver  my  address  on  Agriculture,  with  special  ref- 
erence to  Graft  and  Grafting.  I  refrain.  I  won't 
go  into  details — not  now.  But  I've  simply  got  to 
declare  myself  on  a  few  purely  general  propositions. 

"Dearly  beloved!  You  can  borrow  money  in  the 
East  for  less  than  the  New  Mexico  tax-rate.  We 
have  the  highest  tax  in  America,  four  per  cent.  Add 
the  special  levy  of  six  mills  and  you  have  a  grand 
total  of  nearly  five  cents,  or  one  big  nickel  out  of 
each  and  every  dollar.  In  effect,  every  bit  of  prop- 
erty is  borrowed,  mortgaged  to  a  few  hundred  office- 
holders and  no  show  to  ever  pay  it  off.  So  the  more 
you  have  the  more  you  owe.  Such  a  tax  rate  puts 
a  premium  on  perjury.  Your  friends  get  off  at  a 
nominal  sum,  with  a  tip  to  the  Assessor,  who  sells 
himself  to  the  railroads.  The  rest  of  us  have  our 
choice — pay  or  perjury.  If  all  paid  alike  the  tax 
need  not  be  over  one  per  cent.  In  return  you  give 
us  some  fair  schools — nothing  else.  What  justice 
and  order  we  have  is  mostly  home-made,  and  you 


i8o  WEST  IS  WEST 

build  us  neither  roads  nor  bridges.  Most  all  the 
money  goes  into  your  pockets,  either  in  fees  or  graft. 
You  get  the  taxes  for  levyin'  and  collectin'  'em.  The 
last  treasurer  in  this  county  was  thirty  thousand  dol- 
lars short  in  his  accounts  and  settled  for  eighteen 
thousand.  Everybody  satisfied,  and  his  bondsmen 
lost  nothing.  No  New  Mexico  bondsman  has  ever 
had  to  make  good  one  red,  round  copper  cent.  Your 
laws  would  impugn  the  fair  name  of  Blackwell's 
Island,  cast  doubts  on  the  mentality  of  a  madhouse. 
You  bribe  your  way  into  office,  and  graft  to  pay  the 
bribes.  Our  taxes  and  office  holders  hold  us  back 
more  than  all  other  causes  combined.  It's  goin'  to 
be  stopped,  short,  never  to  go  again — now!  You've 
had  your  little  brief  authority,  and  to  use  the  words 
of  a  good,  large  man,  are  about  to  subside  into  inno- 
cuous desuetude.  You  have  my  views,  gentlemen. 
Good  day!  Come  down  with  me  J.  H.,"  he  said  to 
the  Easy  Boss.  ''Want  to  see  you  a  minute.  I'll 
send  back  the  seven  dollars  and  thirty-six  cents  by 
you.  I  owe  that  to  the  county,  fair  and  square,  and 
I  never  chip-racked  yet. ' '  He  motioned  through  the 
door  with  that  singularly  rigid  pocket. 

11  Let's  go  over  to  the  shade,"  suggested  Steve,  in 
the  hall.  He  led  the  way  to  a  seat  on  the  courthouse 
plaza,  in  full  view  of  the  Collector's  window,  from 
which  officialdom  looked  down  with  interest. 

Slowly  Steve  extracted  his  hand  from  the  coat 
pocket,  drawing  forth — a  pipe  and  a  metal  match 
case.  Carefully  turning  the  pocket  wrong  side  out, 
he  scraped  from  the  corners  a  pipeful  of  loose  to- 
bacco. He  opened  the  match  case  with  a  slight  click- 
ing sound. 


BELL-THE-CAT  181 

"I  will  be  damned!"  gasped  the  Foremost  Citizen, 
half  in  a  whisper,  his  eyes  popping  out  of  his  head. 

"Doubtless,"  said  Steve  placidly,  applying  the 
match  behind  steady,  sheltering  hands. 

"Held  up !"  said  the  Easy  Boss.  "Bluffed!— Ter- 
ritory, County,  Sanitary  Board  and  old  Santiago 
Padilla  with  six  notches  in  his  gun — held  up  by  a 
smooth-faced  kid  and  a  bad-smelling  pipe!  Man, 
you're  a  world  beater !  I  need  you.  I  must  have  you 
on  my  side. '  ' 

Steve  stood  up ;  his  eyes  were  stern,  his  voice  play- 
ful no  longer.  "I'm  no  man's  man — and  I'm  on  my 
side  every  time.  Your  side?  You  have  no  side! 
You're  a  Boss  without  a  party  right  now.  You  lost 
your  alee.  You've  been  admired  as  a  smooth,  suc- 
cessful rascal,  but  even  folks  that  like  rascals  despise 
a  crawfish.  Tray,  Blanche  and  Sweetheart  will  nip 
your  calves  after  this.  The  frontier  won't  stand  for 
a  man  who  needs  those  pink  pills  for  pale  people! 
You're  a  Belled  Cat!" 

That  is  how  Steve  won  his  third  name — what  he 
calls  his  Nom-de-gush — when  the  tale  was  whispered 
along  until  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Chautauqua 
bunch.  In  the  cow-countries  he  is  still  Wildcat 
Thompson,  but  in  political  and  legal  circles  he  is 
known  as  "Bell-the-Cat." 


THE    FOOL'S    HEART 
CHAPTER  XIII 

DOUBLE-DARE 

"VAN  ATTA!  Huh!"  snarled  old  man  Gibson, 
quarrelsome  drunk,  swaying  in  the  saddle,  smiting 
his  thigh  with  enormous  hand.  "Fine  haired  Phila- 
delphy  dude.  Payin'  lease  money  on  his  cattle  on 
the  Forest  Reserve!  Payin'  taxes  on  every  one  of 
'em !  Hires  a  foreman  to  run  his  stuff,  while  he  loafs 
in  Albuquerque  or  in  El  Paso  half  the  time,  or  tink- 
ers around  in  his  little  old  mines  the  other  half. 
Jines  a  club  in  Albuquerque  and  another  in  Silver 
City.  Builds  houses  for  his  cow-camps — lumber 
houses — painted!" 

Keough  hated  him ;  loud,  boastful,  ribald,  blasphe- 
mous, his  voice  suited  with  his  huge  and  brutal  bulk. 
Keough  mentally  contrasted  this  shabby,  repulsive, 
boisterous  boor  with  Van's  well-groomed,  slender 
figure,  his  alert  and  breezy  wit,  his  sunny  charm.  He 
was  heartily  sorry  that  Gibson  had  overtaken  him. 
However,  San  Clemente  was  in  sight. 

1 '  To  cap  all,  builds  a  fancy  two-story  house  up  in 
the  Reserve,  twenty  miles  from  a  neighbor.  Shoot- 
in  '-box !  Saint 's  Rest !  Oh,  hell !— Sanitary  plumb- 
in',  billiard  table,  nigger  cook,  chiny  dishes,  private 
'phone  to  town,  hardwood  floors,  bath-room  and 

182 


DOUBLE-DARE  183 

books!  "Wagon  load  of  four-eyes  out  every  little  bit 
to  admire  the  mountains.  Won't  shoot  a  deer  out 
o'  season!'* 

Keough  made  no  answer  to  this  tirade ;  no  retort 
occurring  to  him  save  the  obvious  but  impracticable 
one  of  bending  a  gun  over  Gibson's  head — a  reason- 
less, pig-brained,  dangerous  man,  best  humored.  He 
burbled  on,  garrulous,  boastful,  indecently  offensive,, 

''Now  look  at  me.  Sold  more'n  twelve  hundred 
steers  at  Ridgepole  yisterday — and  broke  the  monte 
bank  last  night.  /  got  money.  I  always  got  money. 
Do  I  go  blowin'  myself?  Do  I  give  up  my  dough 
for  baseball  teams  and  to  build  Opery  houses?  No 
Sir-ee!  I  got  a  little  log  cabin  at  the  Berenda  for 
storms,  and  to  keep  chuck  in — but  I  sleep  under  a 
tarp  on  the  ground,  I  eat  beef  and  beans  and  bread 
and  coffee,  I  do  two  men's  work,  and  I  keep  my  outfit 
hump  in'  the  year  around — barrin'  a  little  natcherel 
relaxation,  as  now.  The  boys  has  orders  to  be  out 
to  the  ranch  soon  in  the  mornin',  drunk  or  sober. 

''Then  again  —  do  I  put  my  money  in  the  bank 
outer  morbid  curiosity  to  see  if  they'll  give  it  back  I 
Or  so's  they'll  give  me  a  measly  five  per  cent,  while 
they're  gettin'  ten?"  His  little,  covetuous  eyes 
glittered  in  his  bloated  face.  "I  cashes  my  steer- 
check,  quits  town  before  I  git  too  full,  I  leaves  the 
Berenda  to-morrow  evenin',  and  I  hit  the  trail.  I'll 
have  my  wad  loaned  out  to  certain  parties  in  Han- 
over, drawin'  my  little  old  twelve  per  cent.,  and  se- 
curity so  good  that  I  sure  hopes  they  don't  pay." 

Keough  stole  a  furtive  glance.  " Aren't  you  tak- 
ing a  big  risk  to  carry  so  much  money  with  you!" 

Gibson  showed  his  yellow  fangs  in  an  ugly  laugh. 


1 84  WEST  IS  WEST 

"I  got  my  guns.  Mighty  few  wants  to  tackle  old 
Elmer.  Besides,  who  knows!  Just  you — and  you 
ain't  got  the  nerve.  I  give  you  lief  to  try  it.  Double- 
dare  you ! ' '  He  snorted  contemptuously.  '  *  The  bank 
don't  know  but  what  I  loan  it  out  right  here  in  town, 
like  I  done  last  year.  Nobody  else  knows  but  what 
I  lef '  it  in  the  bank.  Just  you  and  me — and  you're 
too  chicken-hearted!  You'd  like  to,  but  you  dasn't. 
You're  chalk-white  now.  Thinkin'  about  it,  be  ye  I 
Too  chicken-hearted!  Yah!" 

Keough's  eyes  fell  to  hide  their  hate — and  fear. 
To  hide,  perhaps,  some  sudden  ominous  thought. 
His  nose  twitched  and  dented  with  his  effort  to  con- 
trol his  uneven  breath.  In  the  dents  the  white  and 
red  came  by  turns. 

"Not  that  you're  any  better 'n  I  be.  If  yon  had 
the  nerve  you'd  be  wuss.  You're  slick  and  sleek  and 
smooth,  and  if  it  wan't  for  them  black  eyebrows 
grown  together  clean  across  your  face,  and  that 
dinted  nose  where  the  devil  grabbed  you,  you'd  be  a 
good  looker.  You  won't  get  drunk  nor  gamble,  you 
herd  with  the  swell  bunch,  and  all  that.  But  it  ain't 
that  you  want  to  be  white.  I  know  ye.  You  just  want 
to  be  thought  white ! ' ' 

Keough  winced.  The  thick  eyebrows  showed  sin- 
ister against  his  bloodless  face,  a  disfiguring  brand ; 
the  nose  dented  as  with  the  visible  finger-prints  of 
a  fiend. 

Moody  and  sullen,  Keough  went  to  his  room  and 
flung  himself  on  his  bed.  His  affairs  were  in  a  bad 
way.  His  Telephone  Exchange  yielded  fair  returns, 
only  to  be  lost  in  disastrous  ventures.  Then  he  had 
dipped  heavily  in  town  property,  at  Hillsboro,  a  mm- 


DOUBLE-DARE  185 

dreds  miles  to  the  south.  But  the  spur  of  railroad 
from  Deming,  because  of  which  he  had  thought  to 
profit,  had  built  no  further  than  Lake  Valley,  and 
Hillsboro  values  had  steadily  declined.  Eaten  by 
envy,  ambition,  intense  longing  for  ease  and  luxury, 
he  was  not  willing  to  wait  the  slow  upbuilding  of 
safe  business.  The  hills  were  richly,  though  errat- 
ically, strewn  with  mineral.  He  tried  placer  mining, 
to  lose  heavily;  while  Gibson,  a  gunshot  away, 
reaped  golden  harvests. 

Last,  after  long  observation  of  production,  he  sac- 
rificed his  Hillsboro  holdings  to  acquire  a  half  in- 
terest in  the  Golden  Fleece  mine — Van  Atta  buying 
the  other  half.  For  a  few  months  their  shipments 
made  a  handsome  showing.  Then  the  pay  streak 
dwindled.  It  did  not  pay  expenses  again.  Keough 's 
telephone  profits  were  swallowed  regularly;  all  he 
could  rake  and  scrape  beside.  Still  the  deficit  grew. 
Finally  Van  Atta  had  loaned  him  five  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  put  in  a  like  amount  as  his  own  share  for 
a  last  attempt  to  recover  their  losings.  The  recent 
disaster  in  the  mine  had  gone  far  to  wipe  out  this 
money.  Kuin  stared  Keough  in  the  face. 

Why?  he  questioned  bitterly,  in  a  dull  glow  of 
murderous  rage.  Why  should  he,  of  good  family, 
good  habits,  education,  brains,  always  lose?  Gibson 
— drunkard,  gambler,  bully,  ignorant,  stupid,  coarse 
in  every  fibre  and  instinct — Gibs"on,  by  some  devil's 
luck,  prospered  in  whatever  he  touched.  .  .  . 
Keough  hated  himself,  he  hated  this  insolent  Midas- 
monster  who  tempted  him,  scorned  him,  heaped  him 
insults. 

He  thought  of  the  money  Gibson  would  draw,  of 


1 86  UWEST  IS  WEST 

the  lonely  ranch  at  the  Berenda.  What  was  the  life 
of  such  a  loathsome  beast  to  him?  ...  He  pictured 
it  out.  Not  a  hold-up.  Gibson's  surly  courage  and 
sinister  quickness  were  too  well  known.  Death !  .  .  . 
In  a  dozen  ways,  in  a  dozen  places,  he  waylaid  him, 
shot  him  down,  set  his  heel  on  the  brutal,  sneering 
face.  "Chicken-hearted,  am  I?"  .  .  .  Other  visions 
^carne  thronging  thick  and  fast,  horrible,  appalling. 
He  was  seen,  pursued,  overtaken.  Or,  escaping  un- 
seen, rumor,  suspicion,  the  falling  away  of  his  fellows 
, — arrest,  questioning,  the  piling  up  of  damning  evi- 
idence,  conviction — confession,  the  scaffold-  .  .  >  ,; 
Too  risky! 

' '  Hello,  Central !    Am  Mistah  Keough  dere  f ' ' 

' '  Not  in  town. ' ' 

" Land's  sake!    When's  he  comin'  back?" 

"I'll  give  you  the  office.    Miss  Clayton '11  know." 

"Yas'm.  Please 'm  .  .  .  Hello!  Am  dis  Miss 
Clayton?  Please,  am  yer'  spectin'  Mistah  Waltah 
backsho'tly?" 

''Yes.    Who  is  it?" 

"Me?  Ise  de  cook  up  heah  at  Mistah  Van's  place, 
de  Saint's  Res'.  You  tell  Mistah  Waltah  ole  Snow- 
ball was  axin'  for  him.  Tell  him — tell  him  when  is 
he  gwinter  come  up  heah?  'Cause  if  he's  comin'  up 
dis  ebenin'  I'd  suah  lak  to  get  ter  go  ovah  to  Gallinas 
Haid.  The  Mexicans  gwine  ter  have  a  big  baile  there. 

"All  right.    I'll  ask  him  and  let  you  know." 

Keough  slammed  the  door  between  the  exchange 
and  his  private  office.    "Any  mail?"  he  snapped. 
Clara  Clayton,  book-keeper  and  chief  of  the  hello- 


DOUBLE-DARE  187 

girls,  handed  him  the  letters.  "  Anything  wrong, 
Walter  1 ' '  Her  hand  rested  timidly  on  his  arm. 

He  shook  her  off  roughly.  "Can't  you  leave  me 
alone?  No,  there's  nothing  wrong,  Walter — for  if 
I  lose  my  last  dollar  I'll  always  have  you  left?" 

The  girl  bent  her  head  to  hide  tears  of  mortifica- 
tion. 

'  *  Bah !  I  see  my  finish ! ' '  Keough  tore  the  letters 
to  strips.  "Rats  leave  a  sinking  ship.  Best  follow 
their  wise  example,  my  girl. ' ' 

"Walter!  You  are  not  yourself,  or  you  could 
never  hurt  me  so  I" 

It  was  his  true  self.  The  mask  of  courtesy,  of 
manhood,  of  honor,  slipped  aside;  the  naked  soul 
stood  revealed  in  all  its  hideous  baseness.  With 
sneer  and  cruel  taunt  he  stabbed  her  deep,  mocked 
her  grief  with  shameful  savage  delight. 

"There's  young  Billy  Armstrong,  now  —  mighty 
attentive  to  you.  I've  kept  tab  on  him.  Why  not 
m&rryhimf  Too  high-minded,  eh?  Nonsense!  What 
the  eye  sees  not,  the  heart  grieves  not." 

She  made  strong  her  heart  to  serve  the  traitor  with 
her  loyalty. 

"Walter,  your  troubles  are  killing  you,  crazing 
you !  This  once,  if  never  again,  be  guided  for  your 
own  good!  This  once,  if  never  again,  let  me  think 
for  you!"  She  gave  him  the  message  Van  Atta's 
cook  had  left  for  him.  "Go  up  there  to-night.  Get 
away  from  it  all.  When  Van  Atta  comes,  talk  it  over 
with  him.  If  he  will  take  your  interest  in  settlement 
—  let  the  mine  go.  Then  ride,  hunt,  rest,  read, 
sleep — till  you  are  yourself  again.  Be  a  man,  not 
a  quitter!  Begin  again;  patiently,  bravely,  undis- 


1 88  WEST  IS  WEST 

couraged.  Defeat  is  not  dishonor.  You  are  young, 
strong,  able.  Build  better  next  time.  You  must  take 
a  rest,  Walter — you  must !  You  are  breaking  down. 
Go  to  Saint's  Best,  and  get  this  settled  and  over  with 
before  you  lose  your  mind  with  worrying.  Come  back 
the  man  I  thought  you ! ' ' 

His  cheek  was  pale,  his  eye  was  wild,  his  hand 
shook.  He  stood  by  the  window,  drumming  the  pane 
with  nervous  ringers;  breathing  slowly,  laborously, 
through  pinched  nostrils.  The  call  to  manhood,  to 
honor,  passed  unheard,  unnoted. — The  Berenda  was 
eighteen  miles  to  the  Northwest,  at  the  western  base 
of  Pinetop  Mountain;  Saint's  Rest  was  on  the  sum- 
mit, thirty  miles  to  the  Northeast,  both  in  the  lone- 
liest of  countries.  If  he  gave  permission,  Snowball 
would  be  gone,  there  would  be  no  one  at  Saint's  Rest. 
It  was  two  o'clock  now.  Once  beyond  the  forks  of 
the  Percha,  there  were  countless  trails.  He  could  go 
to  the  Berenda,  unseen,  back  to  Saint's  Rest,  un- 
seen! It  could  be  done.  .  .  .  "Too  chicken- 
hearted?"  Insolent  dog!  .  .  .  There  was  no  time 
to  lose.  Gibson,  going  directly,  should  reach  the 
Berenda  by  sundown,  while  he  must  follow  the  canon 
of  the  Percha  as  if  going  to  Van  Atta's. 

"I'll  do  it — I'll  go  now.  Call  up  the  darkey  and 
tell  him  I '11  be  thereby  seven.  He  needn't  wait.  I'm 
sorry  I  was  such  a  brute,  Clara.  I  am  half  crazy,  I 
guess.  You're  a  good  little  girl.  Now  I'll  hike 
along,  pronto.  Give  me  a  kiss.  Good-by!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CHICKEN-HEAETED  , 

So  HOT  and  cold  he  was,  as  he  rode  up  the  valley 
of  the  Percha;  so  goaded  and  checked  and  torn  by 
greed  and  fear  and  hate ;  so  sick  and  shaken  by  tu- 
mult of  whirling  senses ;  that,  if  his  drawings  back 
had  been  due  to  any  promptings  of  mercy,  if  there 
had  been  one  fickle  impulse,  however  fleeting,  to 
spare  the  wretched  creature  whose  doom  he  planned, 
he  might  almost  have  been  pitied. 

But,  his  hesitation  was  for  himself  alone.  There 
was  no  shrinking  from  the  bloody  deed  itself;  only 
fear  of  mishap,  detection.  He  had  no  more  compas- 
sion for  Gibson  than  for  a  worm  he  might  crush. 

Men  there  have  been,  most  wicked,  most  shame- 
stained,  yet  with  some  wild  touch  of  generosity,  of 
loyalty,  of  unshrinking  courage,  that,  despite  their 
crimes,  has  won  them  grudging  admiration;  yes, 
even  love  and  tears.  Never,  where  the  final  blight 
of  utter  selfishness  has  fallen. 

Keough  would  and  would  not.  The  thing  was  im- 
possible ;  it  was  foolishly  simple ;  Gibson  should  die, 
Gibson  might  live  to  dotage  for  all  his  meddling. 
Even  if  he  were  unseen,  his  horse  would  be  sweaty, 
gaunt,  travel-worn.  Questioned,  how  would  he  ac- 
count for  that?  The  chills  ran  down  his  spine.  Too 
risky!  He  came  to  the  Forks,  he  passed  by  the  fatal 


190  WEST  IS  WEST 

trail  to  Berenda.  What  was  it  Clara  had  said?  To 
begin  over  again. — A  bitter  pill ! — But  perhaps  that 
was  best. — He  heard  the  patter  of  hoof-beats,  he 
looked  up.  Johnny  Cox  came  riding  down  the  Bur- 
ley  trail ;  and  Johnny  Cox  rode  his  pet  horse.  .  .  . 
The  quick  fiend  whispered  counsel;  the  white  dents 
came  and  went  with  the  fierce  beating  of  Keough's 
heart. 

' '  Hello,  John !    How  'a  Burley  ? ' ' 

"Dead.    Which  way?" 

"Van  Atta's.  Hunt,  rest  up,  general  good  time. 
Come  along?" 

' '  Can't.  Goin'  down  to  San  Clemente  to  shape  my 
horse  for  a  race." 

The  black  brows  raised  scofirngly. 

' '  That  old  cow  ?  He 's  so  fat  he  can  hardly  waddle. 
This  one  I'm  riding  can  beat  him  half  a  mile,  right 
here  and  now. ' ' 

"What  color  is  your  money,"  inquired  Johnny, 
lightly. 

"0, 1  mean  business,"  said  Keough.  "Wait  till  I 
get  this  load  of  clothes  off  my  saddle."  He  untied 
the  bundle  wrapped  in  his  slicker — (which  contained, 
not  clothes,  but  a  lineman's  test-set,  for  use  in  con- 
struction or  repair  work,  pliers,  a  pair  of  high-heeled 
boots,  such  as  cowboys  wear,  and  a  tightly  covered 
can).  "We  can  take  a  lap-and-tap  start  from  that 
big  dead  juniper.  Here's  the  judge  and  stake- 
holder. He  emptied  a  tobacco  pouch  and  dropped  in 
two  gold  pieces.  "Put  in  your  money  and  hang  it 
on  that  bush.  The  first  man  that  gets  to  it,  keeps  it. ' ' 

"You're  on!"  said  John.  "But  it's  a  shame  to 
take  it." 


CHICKEN-HEARTED  191 

A  little  later,  Johnny  Cox,  many  yards  in  the  lead, 
grabbed  the  pouch,  flourished  it  derisively,  and 
passed  on  his  way  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Keough  was  out  twenty  dollars — but  his  horse  was 
in  a  lather  of  blameless  sweat.  Questioned,  Johnny 
would  bear  him  out;  bear  witness,  too,  that  he  had 
passed  far  beyond  the  Porks  on  his  way  to  Saint's 
Rest.  From  here  on,  no  one  but  strangers  followed 
the  winding  valley  road.  If  any  one  else  came  down 
— why,  they  had  missed  each  other  in  the  broken 
hills  and  ridges.  He  hesitated  no  longer.  Fate  was 
playing  into  his  hands.  Taking  up  his  bundle,  he 
turned  leftward  through  the  brush;  towards  the 
Berenda  trail. 

At  sunset  he  was  riding  up  the  winding  pebbly 
bottom  of  the  dry  Berenda,  that  he  might  leave  no 
sign.  Hiding  the  horse  in  a  clump  of  black  willow, 
he  removed  his  shoes  and  pulled  on  the  boots  he  car- 
ried in  his  bundle ;  stepping  from  stone  to  stone  till 
he  reached  the  wagon-road  from  Whitewater.  The 
house  was  now  nearby.  He  walked  up  boldly  and 
shouted.  No  answer.  Had  there  been  anyone  there, 
had  he  met  anyone  before,  he  had  a  tale  ready  of 
cow-thieves  seen,  warning  to  give.  He  crouched  be- 
hind a  box  near  the  door.  He  must  not  shoot  Gibson 
in  the  body ;  he  might  spoil  the  bills.  It  seemed  ages 
to  Keough,  waiting  in  the  deepening  dusk ;  but  it  was 
really  long.  Bellowing  a  maudlin  song,  Gibson  rode 
up,  unsaddled,  led  his  horse  to  the  pasture  and 
slapped  his  neck ;  not  unkindly. 

"Get  fat,  you  old  sun-of-a-gun !  You've  had  a 
purty  hard  lay.  One  month  off  for  you.  Pull  your 
freight !  G'  long,  y'  old  fool!  Got  no  corn  for  ye." 


I92  WEST  IS  WEST 

Turning  the  corner,  Keough's  gun  was  almost  at 
Gibson's  ear.  He  fired  twice.  Unflinching,  he  com- 
pleted his  fearful  errand.  Unflinching,  he  dragged 
the  body  to  the  back  of  the  house. 

" Chicken-hearted,  am  I?  Damn  you!" 

The  ten  miles  back  to  the  Percha  were  made  in  an 
hour;  the  boots  hidden  by  the  way.  He  crossed  the 
wagon-road,  toiled  up  the  rough  black  mesa  beyond, 
came  at  last  to  the  Saint's  Rest  telephone  line,  where 
it  steepled-jacked  the  shortest  way  across  the  hills. 
He  climbed  the  pole  and  bridged  the  test  set  to  the 
wire. 

"Hello,  Central!  .  .  .  That  you,  Clara?  .  .  . 

"Well,  I  got  here,  ....  No,  just  came Yes, 

I  rode  slow.  Clara,  you'll  find  a  letter  in  my  desk 
from  John  Murray,  at  Deming.  Wants  work  at  the 
mine.  Forgot  to  answer  it,  and  he's  an  old  friend. 
Wish  you'd  write  him.  Tell  him  he'd  better  not 
come.  Like  as  not,  we'll  shut  down  in  a  few  weeks. 
Clara,  don't  call  me  up  any  more  to-night  for  any- 
thing. I'm  dead  beat  and  going  right  to  bed.  Good- 
night, little  girl.  .  .  .  Yes.  Good-night!" 

He  took  off  the  test  set  and  hid  it  in  a  crevice  of  a 
ragged  and  shattered  cliff. 

Behind  a  boulder  he  kindled  a  tiny  fire.  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  Nearly  eight.  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
he  counted  Gibson's  money.  .  .  .  Seventeen  thou- 
sand dollars — nine  hundred  steers  at  fifteen  dollars, 
plus  the  winnings  at  monte.  More  than  he  had  ex- 
pected, Dropping  the  pocket  book  in  the  fire,  he  put 
the  money  in  the  can  he  had  brought,  and  thrust  it 
deep  into  a  crevice ;  carefully  marking  the  spot. 


CHICKEN-HEARTED  193 

His  skirts  were  clear  now.  He  was  on  record  as 
having  telephoned  from  Saint's  Rest  at  eight  o'clock. 
He  rode  swiftly  up  the  line.  But  one  risk  remained 
— of  vague  suspicion  only — if  any  one  should  happen 
into  Saint's  Rest  before  him.  He  had  a  story  ready. 
His  horse,  falling,  had  got  away,  had  tried  to  go  back 
to  town,  long  declining  to  be  caught.  Besides,  why 
should  anyone  suspect  him? 

He  felt  neither  terror  nor  remorse.  He  was  all 
right  now — safe,  self-possessed,  rich,  happy.  What 
years  of  striving,  industry,  self-denial  had  failed  to 
do,  a  bold  stroke  had  won  in  an  hour.  He  urged  his 
horse  on  through  the  night, 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  KNOCKING  AT  THE  GATE 

COMING  on  such  a  house,  in  such  a  place,  unex- 
pectedly, Tait  was  startled  to  wakefulness.  It 
loomed  above  him  in  the  clear  starlight,  quiet  and 
still. 

Under  the  broad  portico  the  shadows  were  deep. 
Knocking  smartly,  he  struck  his  knuckles  on  the 
bronze  bell-pull.  Groping,  his  fingers  closed  around 
it. 

"Oh,  hell!"  he  said,  scornfully.  "And  I  plumb 
forgot  to  bring  my  cyard-case.  Here  goes ! ' ' 

Mellow  and  sonorous  came  the  answered  peal, 
long-echoing,  rippling  to  silence.  He  rang  again, 
more  vigorously.  He  led  his  horse  to  the  open  stable, 
not  unsaddling,  and  threw  him  some  hay.  He  re- 
turned with  the  deliberate  intention  of  breaking  in ; 
partly  that  he  was  honestly  hungry,  more  that  he 
was  hungrily  dishonest.  His  predatory  nose  scented 
*  rich  pickings. 

•I  Long  since,  Tait  had  learned  that  locked  and 
bolted  doors  are  no  indication  of  a  house  securely 
closed.  This  was  no  exception.  The  third  window 
yielded  without  resistance.  He  found  himself  in  the 
kitchen. 

Once  inside,  his  prowling  instincts  mastered  his 
hunger.    Lighting  a  lamp,  with  a  perfunctory  clutch 

194 


A  KNOCKING  AT  THE  GATE       195 

at  the  good  things  in  the  pantry,  he  began  a  tour  of 
inspection,  munching  by  the  way. 

Passing  through  at  the  dining  room,  he  stood  in 
a  great  central  hall,  evidently  at  once  library,  smok- 
ing room  and  living  place  in  general.  Seven  doors 
gave  in  to  it ;  the  outer  door  in  front,  one  in  the  rear, 
the  door  to  the  dining  room  by  which  he  had  just 
entered,  one  beyond  the  fireplace,  and  three  in  the 
further  side.  Of  these,  the  two  next  the  front  were 
hung  with  rich  Oriental  portieres  of  dark  red.  A 
heavy  rug  matching  these  hangings  in  color  took  up 
the  central  space,  eked  out  at  either  end  by  thick  and 
gorgeous  Navajo  blankets,  which  Tait  viewed  with 
proprietary  interest. 

On  his  right  was  a  tiled  fireplace,  flanked  by  low, 
oaken  bookshelves.  Two  broad  tables,  littered  with 
periodicals,  ash-trays,  pipes,  matches  and  such  small 
comforts,  were  overhung  by  a  four-light  chandelier, 
and  surrounded  by  a  miscellany  of  rockers  and  va- 
rious lounging-chairs.  All  these,  the  college  and 
fraternity  emblems,  prints,  etchings,  the  steins  on 
the  mantel,  the  crossed  rapiers  above,  Tait  viewed 
with  contemptuous  dissatisfaction. 

He  raised  his  lamp.  Pacing  him,  a  loitering  flight 
of  steps  made  short  and  easy  way  to  a  wide,  low  land- 
ing in  the  corner;  turning,  as  a  hanging  stairway, 
took  on  the  dignity  of  carven  balustrade,  rose  in 
leisurely  slope  athwart  the  entire  back  of  the  hall  to 
a  second  landing,  paused  for  breath,  turned  leftward 
again  with  a  last  resolute  and  stately  scramble,  and 
gained  the  second  story  directly  over  Tait's  head. 

Under  this  stairway  was  a  single  door.  Tait 
peered  in.  It  was  a  well-appointed  bath-room. 


1196  WEST  IS  WEST 

Drawing  back,  he  threw  an  ironic  glance  at  the  stair- 
case. " Humph !"  he  grunted.  " Wonder  they  don't 
have  an  elevator." 

Eetracing  his  steps,  he  passed  the  fire-place  with 
a  sneer  for  the  divan's  luxurious  cushions,  the  rib- 
| boned  mandolin  dropped  from  a  careless  hand; 
opened  the  remaining  door  on  the  fire-place  side ; 
into  a  billiard  room,  floor  and  walls  adorned  with 
trophies  of  the  chase.  There  was  a  gun  rack,  too, 
of  which  Tait  made  note  for  future  reference. 

Crossing  the  hall,  he  pushed  aside  the  curtains. 
Bedrooms  both ;  in  each  a  silver  candlestick  met  his 
approval.  Also,  he  would  here  replenish  his  war- 
drobe later.  The  last  room  on  the  ground  floor,  at 
the  stair-foot,  was  fitted  out  as  an  office,  with  a  tele- 
phone, a  small  safe,  a  desk  beyond,  a  shelf  of  bulky 
account  books. 

Tait  moistened  his  lips.  His  eyes  glistened.  His 
cupidity  was  now  thoroughly  aroused.  If  the  safe 
was  furnished  to  harmonize  with  the  house  —  if  he 
could  open  it!  But  how?  He  was  a  man  of  varied 
industry,  but  this  was  beyond  him.  He  rummaged 
the  desk  hastily.  Nothing  of  value  save  a  jewelled 
stiletto,  evidently  used  to  open  letters.  He  thrust 
it  in  his  pocket.  If  he  could  only  open  that  safe ! 

Hark! 

(  He  blew  out  the  light.  Some  one  galloped  up  the 
road ;  dismounted,  ran  up  the  steps ;  a  key  turned  in 
jthe  front  door!  Tait  cursed  himself  viciously.  If 
he  had  been  quicker — if  he  had  only  been  found  in 
!  !the  kitchen !  The  New  Mexican  regards  leniently  the 
informalities  prompted  by  hunger.  But  in  the  office  ? 
Tait  drew  his  gun. 


A  KNOCKING  AT  THE  GATE       197 

' '  You,  Sambo !  Hey !  Hello-o ! ' '  called  a  clear  and 
joyous  voice.  Jingle  of  spurred  heels  came  down 
the  hall.  ''Why,  where  is  that  damn  lazy  darkey? 
If  he's  gone,  I'll  fire  him  as  sure  as  my  name's  Jim 
Van  Atta!" 

A  match  crackled;  a  finger  of  light  pierced  the 
keyhole  to  Tait.  The  footsteps  came  nearer.  Tait 
cocked  his  gun.  But  wait!  Why  should  this  Van 
Atta  come  straight  to  the  office,  first  of  all?  Why 
indeed,  except  that  he  had  money  or  valuables  to  put 
in  the  safe  ?  Let  him  once  open  that ! — Tait  crouched 
down  between  desk  and  wall,  under  the  shelf. 

Van  Atta  placed  his  lamp  on  the  safe  and  took 
down  the  receiver.  His  back  was  to  Tait.  The  light 
showed  his  good-humored,  clean-cut  profile,  the 
boyish  smile. 

"Hello,  Central!  ...  Is  Walter  there?  .  .  . 
Yes.  .  .  .  Yes,  it's  me.  .  .  .  Yes,  I'm  at  Saint's 
Best.  Is  that  you,  Miss  Clayton?  .  .  .  Up  here? 
.  .  .  You  're  sure  Walter  'phoned  from  here  ?  .  .  . 
Oh,  well,  he  may  be  upstairs  asleep,  but  I  doubt  it. 
I've  just  come,  but  I've  made  noise  enough  to  wake 
the  dead,  yelling  for  that  infernal  darkey.  .  .  . 
Gone  to  a  dance?  I'll  dance  him!" 

Noiselessly,  Tait  let  down  the  cocked  hammer  of 
his  revolver.  He  slipped  the  gun  back  into  his  belt, 
and  drew  the  stiletto.  It  was  barely  possible  that  a 
sound  sleeper  had  not  been  awakened, — but  a  shot? 

"Oh,  Walter's  all  right,  Miss  Clayton.  Don't  be 
alarmed.  Something  may  have  happened  that  took 
him  back  to  town.  Maybe  he's  left  a  note.  If  he 
comes  back,  tell  him  to  ask  Charlie  White  for  good 
news.  White  left  the  mine  for  San  Clemente  just  as 


198  WEST  IS  WEST 

I  started  here.  Well,  I'll  look  upstairs  to  see  if 
Keough's  taking  a  Rip  Van  Winkle.  I've  got  some- 
thing to  wake  him  up.  Gold !  Bed  tick  full  of  gold. 
If  I  find  him,  or  if  he  left  any  word,  I'll  let  you  know. 
Good-by!" 

He  hung  up  the  receiver.  Turning,  his  eye  fell 
on  the  kitchen  lamp  and  the  slight  disorder  of  his 
desk.  He  took  a  step  forward — and  Tait  was  upon 
him,  stabbing  and  slashing.  Van  Atta  fought  back 
savagely  and  fell  with  no  outcry.  It  was  a  matter 
of  seconds. 

Tait  rose  to  his  feet  and  flung  away  the  dagger. 
The  savage  ferocity  died  from  his  face,  left  it  hag- 
gard, horror-smitten.  With  light  and  gun  he  tiptoed 
on  a  hasty  search  upstairs.  He  found  no  one. 

He  came  back  and  stared  stupidly  at  his  bloody 
work,  clasping  his  head  between  his  hands,  * '  I  wisht 
he  was  alive!"  he  said  soberly.  "I'd  better  'a* 
served  a  term.  Oh  God,  I  wisht  he  was  alive ! ' '  Wild 
beast  as  he  was,  he  could  hardly  nerve  himself  to 
search  his  victim.  In  the  dead  man's  bill-book  he 
found  a  very  moderate  amount  of  money  and  a 
promissory  note  in  Van  Atta's  favor  for  five  thou- 
sand dollars,  signed  by  Walter  Keough;  nothing 
more. 
.  "Zing-g!  Zing-g-g!" 

Tait  leaped  to  his  feet,  gun  in  hand,  eyes  glaring, 
gasping  for  breath,  hair  on  end.  The  telephone! 
There  had  been  an  axe  in  the  kitchen.  He  rushed 
to  get  it ;  he  slashed  the  wires ;  afterwards,  in  a  burst 
of  insensate  fury,  he  smashed  the  box  to  splinters. 

Then,  in  the  dining  room,  a  silvery-toned  French 
clock  beat  the  hour,  with  slow  and  measured  chime. 


A  KNOCKING  AT  THE  GATE       199 

One,  Two,  Three,  Four,  Five,  Six,  Seven,  Eight, 
Nine,  Ten!  Tait  could  bear  no  more,  the  harmless 
clock  sounded  like  the  bells  of  doom.  He  fled  through 
the  kitchen,  he  blew  out  the  light,  he  climbed  out  of 
his  yet  unclosed  window  and  fled  for  his  horse.  And 
as  he  reached  the  stable  a  second  horseman  trotted 
briskly  through  the  yard  gate. 

At  San  Clemente,  just  after  ten,  little  Miss  Clay- 
ton ran  across  the  street  to  the  hotel  office,  where 
Emil  James  was  reading  up  the  news  of  the  last 
month. 

"Oh,  Mr.  James!"  she  cried,  "There's  something 
wrong  at  Saint's  Rest — something  dreadful!" 

"Out  o'  sugar?"  suggested  Emil,  laying  down  his 
paper. 

"Don't!  Walter  talked  to  me  over  the  line  at 
eight.  Just  now  Mr.  Van  Atta  'phoned  down — and 
Walter  wasn't  there.  Mr.  Van  thought  maybe  he 
was  up-stairs  asleep,  and  said  he  'd  call  me  up.  When 
he  didn't,  I  rang  again  and  again  and  could  get  no 
answer.  Won't  you  go  up  for  me  and  see  about  it?" 

"Maybe  the  wire's  down — tree  fallen  on  it,  or 
something, ' '  said  Emil  reassuringly.  * '  Or  else — yes, 
that  will  be  it.  I've  got  it  all  figured  out  now.  Char- 
ley White  just  got  in  from  Malibu,  half  an  hour  ago. 
Says  they  made  the  biggest  kind  of  a  strike  in  the 
Golden  Fleece  last  night.  Bock  all  shot  full  of  raw 
gold.  That  explosion  last  spring  was  the  making  of 
them.  They  made  the  strike  in  the  new  ventilator 
shaft  they're  driving.  I  reckon  maybe  some  one  has 
rode  over  and  told  Keough,  and  he's  lit  out  for  the 
mines. ' ' 


200  WEST  IS  WEST 

"No,  no!  Mr.  Van  Atta  said  over  the  'phone  he 
left  the  mine  just  as  Charlie  did.  If  anyone  had  gone 
before,  Van  would  have  known  it.  You  don't  under- 
stand. It  isn't  just  this — it's  this  on  top  of  a  lot  of 
other  things.  Walter  has  been  losing  a  great  deal 
of  money;  the  worry  of  it  was  breaking  him  down. 
.He  has  been  so  strange  and  —  different.  Oh,  I'm 
afraid!  Do  go,  Mr.  James.  Go  as  a  favor  to  me. 
I'm  afraid!" 

"So  you  think  that" — Emil  checked  himself  and 
looked  down  his  long  nose.  "Perhaps  I'd  better  go. 
There'll  be  some  simple  explanation,  likely.  I'll  take 
young  Watterson  and  we  '11  follow  the  telephone  line. 
Bun  and  call  up  Van  Atta  again  while  we  saddle. 
Maybe  you'll  get  him  this  time.  We'll  be  ready  in 
a  jiffy.  And,  say,  Miss  Clayton,"  he  added  awk- 
wardly, "I'd — I'd  brace  up,  you  know.  The  better 
class  of  San  Clemente  folks  is  some  gossipy.  Run 
along.  I'll  do  my  best  for  you." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  TRAITORS 

RESTING  his  gun  on  the  stall  partition,  his  free 
hand  on  his  horse's  nostrils  to  prevent  betrayal,  Tait 
waited.  His  momentary  panic  had  passed.  With 
the  call  to  action  all  his  evil  courage  came  back  to 
him.  The  newcomer  turned  his  horse  into  the  pas- 
ture, unlocked  the  kitchen  door,  and  lit  up.  Tait 
heard  him  making  a  fire,  drawing  water.  Next  came 
the  grinding  of  coffee  in  the  mill,  clatter  of  pans,  a 
whistled  refrain.  The  horse  in  the  pasture  hung 
near  the  gate,  whinnying. 

Daring  and  hardened  ruffian  as  he  was,  Tait's 
overwrought  nerves  could  not  endure  the  strain  of 
waiting.  If  he  could  slip  away  unheard,  well  and 
good.  If  not,  he  would  ask  a  night's  lodging  as  a 
chance  traveller,  and,  luring  the  new  man  into  the 
hall,  shoot  him  by  the  office  door,  with  disposal  of 
weapons  and  bodies  to  indicate  that  the  two  men  had 
killed  each  other.  Anything  was  better  than  longer 
suspense. 

To  reach  the  gate,  he  must  pass  the  light  stream- 
ing from  the  kitchen  window.  He  came  softly,  slowly, 
his  hand  still  on  his  horse's  nose.  He  was  almost 
to  the  light  when  the  loose  horse  in  the  pasture  made 
loud  and  vehement  call.  The  whistling  stopped 
abruptly.  The  man  in  the  kitchen  was  listening  — 

20 1 


202  WEST  IS  WEST 

watching,  perhaps.  Time  for  stealth  was  past.  Re- 
leasing his  own  horse  to  shrill  answer,  Tait  gave  the 
word  of  the  Hungry  Stranger. 

1  'Hello,  the  house!" 

" Hello!"  It  was  a  startled  voice.  The  door  was 
jerked  open ;  a  broad  shaft  of  light  leaped  into  the 
night ;  a  man  in  shirt  sleeves  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. "Who  is  it!" 

Tait  walked  briskly  up  the  path  of  light. 

"A  stranger.    Kin  I  git  a  bite  to  eat?" 

"You  certainly  can,"  said  Keough,  pleasantly. 
This  was  the  one  thing  needful  to  establish  his  alibi 
beyond  a  doubt.  "All  of  that.  I  was  just  stirring 
up  a  large  lunch  for  myself.  Put  you  horse  in  the 
pasture.  Devilish  glad  to  see  you.  I've  been  here 
alone  all  night." 

"Oh,  have  you,  then?"  thought  Tait.  At  this 
prompt  and  gratuitous  falsehood  he  suspended  his 
first  plan  and  decided  to  await  developments.  '  *  Why 
— no,  thank  you.  I'll  be  going  on;  unless  you  need 
a  cow-hand?  Mr.  Van  Atta,  isn't  it?" 

"Mr.  Van  Atta's  not  here.  I  don't  think  he  wants 
to  hire  anyone.  Keough  is  my  name. '  > 

Keough !  The  name  on  that  promissory  note  was 
Walter  Keough!  Tait  could  almost  see  his  way. 

"Then  I'll  just  jog  along  to  San  Clemente  after  I 
chew  some.  Pleasanter  riding  at  night  anyhow  — 
and  I  want  to  get  work  somewheres.  Half  out  o' 
money.  But  if  you  could  give  my  horse  a  bait  of 
corn?" 

The  horse  fed,  Keough  bustled  deftly  about  the 
supper ;  eyeing  the  cowboy  curiously.  A  bold,  reck- 
less face,  a  fierce,  hard,  dangerous  face,  thought 


THE  TRAITORS  203 

Keough;  a  face  almost  indictable  of  itself.  If  only 
— The  pulsing  white  dents  came  and  went!  Why 
not?  The  evil  thought  shaped  and  grew. 

"Do  you  know  the  Berenda  ranch?"  he  inquired 
evenly. 
•     "Gibson's  home  ranch?    Yes." 

"They  shipped  from  Ridgepole  yesterday,"  said 
Keough  smoothly,  "and  were  to  start  out  home  to- 
day. Some  of  the  boys '11  stay  in  town  on  a  spree, 
most  likely,  so  there'll  be  a  good  chance  for  you  to 
hook  on,  if  you're  on  hand  at  the  Berenda  to-morrow 
morning. ' ' 

"The  very  thing."  "With  swift  thought,  Tait  ran 
over  the  possibilities.  To  leave  this  man  here,  alive, 
and  run  away  himself,  was  to  proclaim  his  own  guilt. 
But  if  he  went  straight  to  the  Berenda  and  told  a 
straightforward  tale  of  finding  Keough  here,  and  of 
being  directed  by  him  to  Gibson's,  Keough  himself 
would  bear  him  out.  His  own  course  would  be  that 
of  straightforward,  unsuspecting  innocence.  That 
he  had  killed  Van  Atta,  got  away,  returned,  eaten 
almost  in  the  next  room,  and  then  gone  straight  to 
Gibson's  without  any  attempt  at  flight  or  conceal- 
ment— no  one  on  earth  would  ever  believe  that.  By 
the  same  token,  he  must  give  his  right  name.  For 
he  was  a  known  man  further  west,  in  the  San  Quen- 
tin  country,  as  would  certainly  be  brought  out  at  the 
inquiry. 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Keough.  Tait  is 
my  name — Bill  Tait.  Humble  is  my  station.  When 
my  hat  is  on,  I'm  home,  and  the  Berenda 's  my  des- 
tination— where  I'll  be  before  daylight.  And  I  guess 
I'll  wash  my  hands  and  face  a  whole  lot." 


204  WEST  IS  WEST 

Hunger  was  Tail's  role,  though  every  morsel  was 
swallowed  by  a  supreme  effort  of  his  will.  But 
Keough  ate  at  his  ease,  daintily  indeed,  but  with 
thorough  enjoyment. 

A  strange  meal,  that!  Perhaps  there  was  never 
a  stranger.  The  two  smiling,  guilty  men,  feigning 
goodwill  and  cheerfulness;  the  deadly,  violent  ruf- 
fian, and  the  supple,  crafty  schemer;  each,  not  will- 
ingly, driven  to  audacious  hidden  irony,  to  shape 
and  bend  his  every  phrase  to  bravado  of  dreadful 
after-meaning;  each  mercilessly  betraying  the  other 
to  shame  and  death ;  each  exulting  in  his  own  shrewd- 
ness and  cunning ;  each  irrevocably  lost ! 

The  meal  over,  Keough  led  the  way  to  the  hall,  lit 
the  chandelier  lamps,  and  produced  wine,  glasses, 
cigars. 

"A  glass  with  you,  Mr.  Tait.  Then  make  yourself 
comfortable  and  excuse  me  a  few  moments.  I'm 
going  to  bathe,  and  I  must  build  up  the  kitchen  fire 
to  keep  the  water-front  heating."  He  raised  his 
glass.  "Here's  to  our  better  acquaintance!" 

"Drink  hearty!" 

"Now  help  yourself  to  cigars  and  more  wine  when 
you  want  it."  He  went  into  one  of  the  curtained 
rooms,  returning  with  slippers,  underclothing,  and 
a  bathrobe.  These  he  spread  before  the  fire,  now 
cracking  merrily. 

Tait  held  his  hands  to  the  blaze.  "Looks  comfor- 
table, even  if  it  ain't  cold,"  he  commented.  "Not 
but  what  it's  a  leetle  mite  chilly,  for  all  it  was  warm 
enough  to-day,  before  I  climbed  up  in  the  pine  coun- 
try. You  are  sure  some  high  up  in  the  air.  Must 
be  eight  thousand  feet,  I  reckon?" 


THE  TRAITORS  205 

"All  of  that.  San  Clemente  is  five  thousand.  You 
better  change  your  mind  and  stay  all  night." 

Tait  was  firm  on  this  point.  "I  know  a  short  cut 
across  the  hills.  Was  through  this  country  four  or 
five  year  ago.  'Twon't  take  me  long  to  get  to  the 
Berenda.  Make  it  before  day." 

Keough  did  not  urge  him.  It  was  not  absolutely 
necessary  to  sacrifice  this  man,  but  after  all,  it  was 
safer  to  have  him  for  a  scapegoat. 

"I've  got  to  bring  in  some  wood,"  said  Keough. 
"That  trifling  nigger  should  have  filled  the  box." 
He  stepped  in  the  bath  room,  tried  the  taps,  poked 
up  the  kitchen  fire,  and  ran  out  to  the  woodshed. 

Meanwhile,  the  destined  scapegoat  had  been  plan- 
ning on  his  own  account,  much  to  the  purpose.    As 
the  door  closed,  he  summoned  all  his  desperate  hardi- 
hood, leaped  up,  snatched  at  dressing  gown  and  slip- 
pers, and  flung  open  the  office  door.    Swiftly,  shud- 
dering, but  resolute,  he  pressed  the  slipper  soles, 
very  lightly,  in  the  thin  edge  of  the  clotted  blood; 
sprinkled,  with  the   dagger,   a  few  drops   on  the 
dressing  gown ;  closed  the  door,  replaced  everything 
by  the  fire  as  it  was ;  and  hurriedly  slipped  the  folded 
promissory  note  in  an  inner  pocket  of  the  gown. 
.,     He  shivered.    His  lips  were  parched.    He  gulped 
rdown  a  glass  of  wine  and  relit  his  cigar.    Keough 
/found  him  poking  thoughtfully  at  the  fire. 

Tait  turned.  ' '  Well,  the  best  of  friends  must  part, 
and  you'll  be  wantin'  to  take  your  bath.  So  here's 
where  I  do  a  go.  Much  obliged  to  you,  sir!" 

" Don't  mention  it,"  smiled  Keough.  "You  can 
return  it  in  kind,  sometime. ' '  He  refilled  the  glasses. 
* '  To  our  next  happy  meeting ! ' ' 


206  WEST  IS  WEST 

" Sweet  dreams!"  said  Tait.  The  glasses  clinked 
together.  As  Tait  mounted,  Keough  held  out  his 
hand,  "I  wish  you  luck  at  Berenda,  Mr.  Tait.  I'll 
see  you  again?" 

"Quien  Sabe!"  Tait  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Good-night!" 

"Good-night!" 

Was  there  no  vision  of  that  next  awful  meeting — 
at  a  gallows  foot?  Where  one  should  cringe  and 
tremble,  where  one  should  mock? 


CHAPTER  XVII 

KEOTJGH  OPENS  A  DOOB 

BATHED  and  dressed,  Keough  pulled  the  divan  by 
the  fire,  lit  a  cigar,  and  stretched  his  legs  lux- 
uriously. 

Complacently,  he  passed  the  day's  events  in  re- 
view; nothing  to  wish  improved.  He  felt  a  wonder- 
ing admiration  for  his  own  resourceful  subtlety. 
Regret,  remorse,  were  no  part  of  his  thoughts.  If,  by 
raising  his  hand,  the  black  and  treacherous  deed 
might  have  been  undone,  he  would  not  have  raised 
it.  He  was  absolutely  safe. 

Now  for  the  future.  Cautious — he  must  be  doubly 
cautious !  Whatever  chanced,  the  buried  money  must 
not  be  used  for  years.  He  would  pretend  to  be  in 
desperate  straits,  would  delay  payments  right  and 
left.  If  the  mine  did  no  better,  he  would  beg  Van 
Atta  for  leniency.  If  necessary,  he  would  give  up 
his  telephone  property  on  the  note.  Or,  better  still, 
give  up  his  share  of  the  mine.  The  Golden  Fleece 
had  been  a  good  producer  for  years  before  it  came 
into  his  hands.  As  such,  it  would  always  have  a  cer- 
tain value,  as  the  lost  vein  might  be  found  any  day. 
Van  Atta  was  a  good  fellow.  Besides,  it  was  at  his 
urging  that  Keough  had  plunged  so  deeply.  Van 
would  remember  that.  Or  could  be  reminded  of  it. 

After  a  year — better,  two  or  three — he  could  begin 

207 


ao8  WEST  IS  WEST 

on  the  Gibson  money,  adding  it,  a  very  little  at  a 
time,  to  his  savings.  Vulgar  criminals  were  always 
caught  because  they  made  display  of  their  money. 
He  was  too  smart  for  that.  He  would  exercise  self- 
restraint. 

He  laughed  aloud.  It  was  odd  to  reflect  that  he 
really  was  a  criminal.  Well !  A  murderer,  then !  It 
was  as  well  to  look  the  matter  in  the  face  once  for 
all,  before  forgetting  it.  Yet  till  to-day — (yesterday, 
it  was  past  midnight  now) — he  had  kept  well  within 
the  law. 

A  passing  thought  of  Clara  Clayton  came  to  him. 
He  put  it  by  with  annoyance.  Not  good  enough  for 
him — now.  Sometime,  when  he  could  take  his  proper 
place  in  society,  he  would  marry  a  girl  with  money 
and  connections.  There  were  good  catches  even  in 
San  Clemente,  among  that  swell  bunch.  Violet  Arm- 
strong, now — mighty  good  looker.  Or  perhaps  that 
new  girl,  Violet's  eastern  cousin.  Nonsense!  Vi 
would  probably  be  married  and  the  black-haired 
cousin  gone  back  home,  long  before  he  would  dare 
to  blossom  out  with  his  new  wealth.  Caution,  again 
and  again — that  must  be  his  part. 

He  thought  of  Tait  with  amusement.  Rising,  he 
washed  up  and  put  away  a  careful  half  of  the  dishes 
they  had  used.  Unless  Tait  chanced  to  find — that — 
when  he  first  arrived,  he  would  sleep  late  after  his 
night's  ride.  Gibson's  men  would  probably  get  in 
to  the  Berenda  between  eight  and  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing. They  would  find — that — and  ride  a  narrow  cir- 
cle for  a  sign;  finding  only  Tait's  trail,  thanks  to 
Keough's  foresight.  Accused,  Tait  would  naturally 
tell  of  his  visit  to  Saint's  Rest,  the  meeting  with 


KEOUGH  OPENS  A  DOOR          209 

Keough.  If  he,  Keough,  respectable,  unquestioned, 
denied  it — what  chance  would  Tait  have  ? 

The  fire  was  pleasantly  bright  and  cheerful;  he 
was  not  sleepy.  Tossing  off  a  glass  of  wine,  he  took 
a  volume  of  Malory  from  the  shelves,  and  settled 
himself  comfortably. 

Even  now,  all  blood-guilty  as  he  was,  if  there  had 
been  any  relenting  toward  the  helpless  wretch — (in- 
nocent, so  far  as  Keough  knew) — whom  he  had  sent 
through  the  night  to  shameful  death;  if,  even  now, 
he  had  purposed  to  keep  faith  with  the  poor  girl 
whose  fault  lay  in  trusting  him;  again  —  knowing 
what  awful  thing  lay  beyond  the  door  —  he  might 
almost  have  been  pitied.  Safe,  warm,  untroubled,  he 
almost  purred  in  his  content. — What  was  that? 

He  stood  up,  his  face  blanched,  his  heart  beat 
furiously  and  fast.  A  horse  was  coming  —  two! 
Footsteps  on  the  walk;  the  door-bell's  warm  and 
mellow  peal. 

Keough  turned  the  latch.  ' '  Come  in !  Emil,  is  it  ? 
And  Colonel  "Watterson,  Junior?"  He  smiled  a  wel- 
come. "Well,  this  is  good  luck.  Where 'd  you  blow 
in  from?" 

"And  here  you  are,  all  safe  and  sound,"  said  Emil. 
"That's  too  bad." 

"Safe?  Of  course— why  shouldn't  I  be  safe?" 
Keough  was  easy  now.  That  Gibson  was  already 
found,  the  alarm  given  and  that  suspicion  fallen  on 
him  so  soon — impossible!  This  was  some  chance 
errand  only. 

The  rescuers,  a  little  sheepish  at  having  made  a 
hard  ride  for  nothing,  advanced  to  the  fire. 

"Why,  we  thought  maybe  something  had  hap- 


2io  \VEST  IS  WEST 

pened  to  you;  Miss  Clayton  couldn't  get  an  answer 
over  the  'phone,"  said  Emil  apologetically.  "She 
was  worried  about  you. ' ' 

Keough  blazed  in  sudden  wrath.  So  it  was  this 
girl's  officiousness  that  had  caused  him  such  a  fright, 
and  might  have  ruined  him. 

"Why,  I  charged  her  particularly  not  to  call  me 
upon  any  pretext!"  he  said  indignantly.  The  tell- 
tale marks  on  his  nose  showed  white  against  his 
flaming  face.  "I'm  worn  out,  dead  beat,  going  broke 
— and  I  came  up  here  to  get  away  from  it  all." 

"You  see,  Van  Atta "  began  John  Sayles;  but 

Emil  trod  on  his  toes.  Keough 's  perturbation  at 
the  door,  the  forced  note  of  his  welcome,  had  not 
escaped  Emil.  This  burst  of  unreasoning  anger  in 
no  way  lulled  his  suspicions. 

"Van  Atta,"  he  explained,  suavely,  "he  struck 
pay  ore  in  your  little  old  mine  yesterday — big  rich — 
dead  oodles  of  it.  Charlie  White  brought  the  news, 
and  Miss  Clayton  thought  you  might  be  interested. ' ' 
"Eich  ore!"  Keough  paled  again.  Why  could  it 
not  have  been  a  day  earlier?  For  the  first  time  he 
regretted  the  murder ;  as  needless  risk  and  exertion. 
*  *  The  wire  must  be  down, ' '  he  said,  relieved.  If  that 
was  all! 

("Now  that's  queer,"  thought  Emil.  "If  Van 
Atta's  been  here  and  told  him,  why  doesn't  he  say 
so?  If  not,  why  doesn't  he  express,  state  and  declare 
some  slight  emotion  at  them  hilarious  tidings  of 
great  joy?  He  was  down  on  his  luck  good  and  plenty 
just  now.")  Aloud  he  said  carelessly:  "Anyone 
been  here  tonight?" 

Almost    imperceptibly,    Keough    hositated.      His 


KEOUGH  OPENS  A  DOOR         211 

boundless  egotism  decided  him;  merciless,  traitor 
and  coward  to  the  end,  he  cut  away  his  one  slender 
chance  with  a  heartless  lie.  If  only  to  spare  himself 
such  ugly  moments  as  this,  Tait,  riding  through  the 
night,  must  be  riding  to  the  scaffold.  He  would  not 
breathe  freely  till  the  man  was  hung  for  Gibson's 
murder. 

' 'Not  a  soul." 

"Hands  up!" 

Emil's  gun  was  in  his  face.  "Up  with  them!  Go 
through  him,  John  Sayles." 

"No  guns,"  reported  John  Sayles. 

"All  right.    Watch  him,  while  I  look  into  things." 

"Damn  you!  What's  this  for?  How  dare  you 
hold  me  up  this  way?"  shouted  Keough.  His  anger 
was  not  unmixed  with  fear,  though  the  proceedings 
seemed  to  have  no  reference  to  Gibson. 

"What  for?"  Emil  scratched  the  side  of  his  long 
nose.  "Really,  I  hardly  know,"  he  said,  honestly. 
"Let's  call  it  general  results  and  let  it  go  at  that. 
Anyhow,  I  dare,  all  right.  Don't  let  that  part  trouble 
you.  There's  an  air  of  general  mystery  and  blind- 
man 's-bluif  about  this  night's  doin's  that's  simply 
displeasin'  to  my  straightforward  mind.  You  tele- 
phone to  Miss  Clayton  from  here  at  eight  o'clock. 
Now  you  say  no  one  has  been  here.  But  Van  Atta 
'phoned  from  here  about  ten.  Something  wrong!" 

Van  Atta!  In  Keough 's  shrunken  face  the  broad, 
black  brows  seemed,  more  than  ever,  a  disfiguring 
scar;  on  the  pinched  nose  the  white  blotches  came 
and  went.  A  plausible  lie  framed  itself  instantly. 
If  Van  Atta  had  been  here  and  gone  —  why,  then 
Keough  found  the  pasture  gate  open,  had  ridden  the 


212  WEST  IS  WEST 

pasture  over  to  see  if  any  saddle  horses  were  miss- 
ing. Nothing  more  natural.  He  felt  a  pride  in  his 
keen  and  ready  intelligence.  Was  that  all?  Van 
Atta  had  doubtless  gone  to  town.  Emil,  taking  a 
different  trail,  had  not  met  him.  In  some  degree  he 
regained  his  composure. 

"You'll  regret  this  outrage !" 

"Maybe  I  will.  But  you'll  never  regret  anything 
if  you  make  any  break.  Keough!  Keough!"  cried 
Emil,  turning  back.  "I  hope  I  do  regret  it.  I  hope 
to  God  I  do!  But  there's  something  wrong!  It's 
in  the  air.  Your  face,  your  hands,  every  word,  all 
your  actions,  confess  it  and  proclaim  it.  I  don't 
know  what  you're  hidin',  but  we're  goin'  to  clear  it 
up." 

Keough  sneered.  He  was  fully  reassured.  "You 
are  making  a  tempest  in  a  teapot.  You  got  yourself 
all  worked  up  and  made  a  silly  gunplay.  Of  course 
it  disconcerted  me.  I'm  no  devil-may-care  des- 
perado, and  I  never  claimed  to  be  one.  "When  you 
stick  a  gun  under  my  nose,  it  naturally  startles  me. 
Seeing  that  I'm  startled,  you  give  your  imagination 
full  play,  and  scare  yourself.  Come  down  to  earth ! 
Let's  find  out  what  you  accuse  me  of,  at  least,  before 
you  find  me  guilty  and  hang  me.  Van  may  be  in 
town  by  now.  Let's  try  the  'phone  again." 

He  opened  the  office  door. 


CROOKNOSE 
.CHAPTER  XVin 

PASS  OF  THE  NORTH 

FROM  the  first  the  brown  river  had  edged  stealthily 
westward  with  an  eye  to  Guaymas,  keeping  within 
the  bounds  set  by  mountain  walls,  a  few  hours  to 
right  or  left,  but  all  the  while  slyly  waiting  an  un- 
guarded moment  for  breaking  through  to  the  Pacific, 
along  the  path  of  the  Yaqui  Eiver.  A  trifle  more 
of  westing,  to  leave  a  few  puny  hills  to  the  left,  and 
the  thing  had  been  done — the  Rio  Grande  had  slipped 
by  the  barrier  and  so  southeast  across  the  Yaqui 
country.  But  from  those  insignificant  hills  reached 
out  a  finger  of  inexorable  rock,  hidden  and  nameless 
as  the  cause  that  makes  you  that  which  you  are. 
Therefore,  at  Donahue's  the  Rio  Grande  is  turned 
snarling  to  the  east,  to  gnaw  and  carve  a  way 
through  three  great  mountain  ranges  to  the  Mexican 
Sea. 

And  here  is  a  curious  thing.  There  are  no  islands 
in  the  Rio  Grande — save  one.  That  one  is  precisely 
at  Donahue's,  where  a  stubborn  Calif ornian  branch 
bears  westward  about  Greenhorn  Island,  a  minority 
report;  to  creep  back  at  last,  thwarted,  sullen  and 
slow.  It  may  be  chance — but  in  that  land  of  happy 
names,  there  is  no  name  for  this  short,  unstoried 

213 


2i4  WEST  IS  WEST 

stream;  as  if  men  kept  for  that  baffled  hope  the 
silence  due  to  grief. 

Below  Greenhorn  the  river  whips  sharply  east, 
impatient  of  further  delay.  Always  a  twisty  and 
squirmy  stream,  for  the  next  day's  journey  it 
writhes  and  threshes  like  a  python  in  death  agony. 
It  breaks  through  Caballo  Mountains  at  Rincon,  cuts 
the  valley  slantingly  across  the  desert,  nearing  the 
eastward  range  at  the  proper  chisel-angle;  and  so 
chisels  through  at  El  Paso  del  Norte. 

El  Paso,  being  translated,  means  The  Pass.  Seven 
great  railways  crowd  to  this  gateway.  Transconti- 
nental passengers  stop  off  here.  They  cross  the 
bridge  to  Jaurez;  thereafter  saying,  complacently, 
"When  I  was  in  Mexico." 

The  native  of  New  York  City,  it  is  said  —  by 
natives  of  New  York  City  —  is  quiet,  prudent  and 
economical.  Wickedness  and  waste  are  provided  for, 
and  by,  transients  from  Wichita,  Paducah,  Zanes- 
ville.  It  is  even  so  with  El  Paso,  which  is  New 
York's  closest  rival  for  the  crown  of  naughtiness. 
The  true  El  Paso  nature  is  singularly  domestic  and 
sedate ;  the  attractions  are  for  the  transients.  So  it 
is  said. 

That  is  as  it  may  be.  The  attractions  draw  more 
transients,  right  enough ;  which  creates  a  demand  for 
more  attractions;  which  come,  drawing  more  tran- 
sients ;  and  so  on,  ad  libertine.  For  the  same  causes, 
El  Paso's  police  force,  man  for  man,  fears  no  com- 
parisons. 

* '  Say,  you,  crooknose ! '  '  said  Gannon.  ' '  What  are 
you  hanging  around  this  corner  for?" 

Crooknose  turned  slow,  gray  eyes  for  better  re- 


PASS  OF  THE  NORTH  215 

gard  of  Officer  Gannon ;  otherwise  holding  his  negli- 
gent attitude  against  the  wall,  his  hands  resting  on 
the  stone  quoins. 

"For  safety,  Bullneck.    Because  you're  here." 
Now  Bullneck  was  the  older  and  larger  man,  but 
the  gray  eyes  held  the  effect  of  looking  down  in 
kindly  banter  to  a  favored  child. 
"Beat  it,  you,  or  I'll  run  you  in!" 
"That  will  be  interesting,"  said  Crooknose. 
Gannon's  big  body  swayed,  but  his  feet  clung  to 
the  pavement.    Of  the  brown-faced  who  came  to  the 
Pass  City,  there  were  some  from  whom  pink-faced 
men  had  no  profit  in  their  dealings.    The  policeman 
was   not    sorry   for   the   interruption,   which   now 
hurtled  around  the  corner. 
"Mart!    Mart  Gannon!    I've  been  robbed!" 
The  interruption  was  a  pretty  boy,  about  the  age 
of  Crooknose ;  his  hat  was  smashed,  his  coat  torn,  his 
cheek  bruised.    Gannon  knew  him  for  an  office-man 
at  the  smelter. 

"I  was  hanging  around  at  the  Jumbo,  just  looking 
on.  Big  boob  with  a  roll  and  a  jag,  buckin'  monte, 
and  they  was  dealing  seconds  on  him,  see?"  The 
story  came  in  gurgly  blobs,  like  water  from  a  full 
keg.  "I  spots  a  chance  for  easy  money,  so  I  crossed 
him,  see?  It's  a  snap.  When  he  bets  gold  on  the 
clnco,  I'm  piking  silver  on  the  other  card,  and  so  on 
down  the  line,  see?  By  the  time  the  gink  gets  his  I'm 
sixty  to  the  good.  Goin'  downstairs,  two  guys  clat- 
ter past  me,  one  on  each  side.  They  grabs  me,  mashes 
my  hat  over  my  eyes,  they  frisks  me,  and  they  throws 
me  out.  Lucky  I  was  most  down.  See  where  they 
tore  my  coat,  getting  my  leather!" 


216  WEST  IS  WEST 

" Anybody  see  them?  Will  you  know  'em?  Can 
you  swear  to  'em?"  Thus  the  law's  majesty,  blaring. 

"Know  'em,  nothing!  Didn't  I  tell  you  they 
mashes  me  hat  over  me  lookers  ?  All  I  see  was  their 
backs  as  they  beat  it  upstairs.  I  don't  want  the 
strong-arms  pulled — I  want  me  dough,  ninety-five 
bucks.  Thought  you  was  me  friend?" 

"Friend?  I  know  your  name's  Parker,  if  you  call 
that  bein'  a  friend.  Whacha  want  me  to  do,  you 
sucker?  Arrest  the  whole  block?  You  swear  out  a 
warrant  and  produce  witnesses,  or  else  you  clear  out 
of  this.  By  your  own  say,  you're  a  cheat,  a  piker, 
a  squealer  and  a  chump.  Shack,  now ! ' ' 

"Does  the  concession  cover  that?"  Crooknose  left 
his  corner  to  put  the  query,  lightly,  carelessly. 
"What  you  say  of  friend  Snipes  is  eminently  correct. 
You  have  a  happy  knack  of  speech.  But  isn't  friend 
Jumbo  a  little  on  the  hog?  Winning  both  sides  of 
one  bet — it  seems  almost  greedy.  Still,  I  would  not 
interfere,  if  they  hadn't  sent  two  men  to  get  it  from 
Snipes.  I  can't  forgive  that.  You'd  better  trot 
along,  Bullneck,  and  bring  it  here." 

"Bring  it?  Who'll  I  get  it  of?"  Bullneck  was 
choking-black,  but  that  cold,  gray  eye  chilled  him  to 
the  bone. 

"Oh,  just  ask  the  house  for  it.  They'll  give  it  to 
you.  Ninety-five  dollars,  Snipes?  Well,  Bullneck, 
you  bring  back — oh,  say,  sixty-five!  That  leaves  a 
piece  of  money  to  split  three  ways.  You  can  keep  all 
of  the  thirty,  if  you  want  to,  but  it  doesn't  pay  in 
the  long  run — the  goose  and  the  golden  egg,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  If  Jumbo  holds  back,  you  might 
mention  my  name — Crooknose — and  tell  'em  I'm  one 


PASS  OF  THE  NORTH  217 

of  the  grandest  little  collectors  now  at  large,  and  111 
be  up  presently.  Go  on  now,  and  get  it!" 

And  Gannon  got  it. 

"Snipes,"  said  Crooknose,  "let  me  put  you  wise 
to  a  few  things.  Don't  cross  the  sucker  bet  too 
pointedly.  It's  bad  form,  it  tips  the  game,  you'll  get 
yourself  disliked.  Number  two — keep  to  the  wall  on 
dark  stairways;  it  is  a  sign  of  bad  luck  to  have  a 
stranger  on  each  side.  Thirdly,  this  is  no  place  for 
trundle-bed  trash.  Keep  out  of  this  part  of  town, 
unless  you  are  a  match  for  any  two  men." 

"Like  yourself?"  sneered  Gannon. 

"Exactly.    You  may  go  now,  Snipes." 

* '  Why — er — thank  you ! J '  blurted  Snipes.  1 1  Can 't 
I  slip  you  a  yellow-boy  for  yours  I ' ' 

1 '  Me  ?  For  that, ' '  said  Crooknose  dispassionately. 
"I  must  give  you  another  steer."  A  quick  twist  of 
the  collar  forced  Snipes  about.  A  creditable  drop- 
kick  started  him  on  his  way ;  outraged  law  stood  by, 
subdued. 

"So-long,  Bullneck!"  said  this  redresser  of 
wrongs.  "I  got  to  go  up  to  the  office.' 


CHAPTER  XIX  - 

THE  DEEAM-SHOP 

A  STiBBmG  place,  the  great  world,  and  crowding 
to  the  eye;  San  Clemente,  a  month  away,  was 
dimmed  in  Katie's  mind.  The  best  was,  no  marvel 
of  all  held  more  of  lure  than  her  daily  task.  For 
Katie  worked  in  a  dream-shop. 

Strong,  barbaric  colors,  blankets  of  Zuni  and  the 
Navajo,  basket-work  of  Pima,  Hopi  and  Apache, 
pottery  of  old  pueblos;  these  drew  you  through  the 
door  to  ruin  and  delight.  Bead-work  and  moccasin 
came  next,  quiver  and  belt  and  bow;  then  all  that 
the  desert  gives  of  quaint  and  rare :  cacti  of  cliff  and 
plain  and  hill,  flaunting,  flaming,  scarlet  or  crimson 
or  blood-red;  purple  maguey,  the  yucca's  white  and 
waxen  bells — cousins,  these  two,  bearing  lance  and 
wand;  and  poor  kin  to  them,  sotol  and  bayonet  and 
dagger,  spiked  and  bristling ;  richest  in  names  of  all 
growing  things,  these  thorny  kindreds,  strong-fibred, 
stout-hearted. 

Beaten  copper,  filigree  of  delicate  silver  or  gold; 
great  locks,  hand-forged,  with  foot-long  keys,  from 
churches  that  flourished  and  fell  when  Cromwell 
ruled  in  England ;  petrified  wood,  heaps  of  garnets, 
carnelians,  agates,  turquoise;  arrow-heads  of  flint 
or  obsidian;  quartz,  white  or  creamy;  skins  of  leo- 
pards, bear,  panther  and  wolf:  such  wonderwares 

218 


THE  DREAM-SHOP  219 

and  a  thousand  more  the  dream-pedlar  had  brought 
and  blended. 

A  curtained  archway  gave  on  a  posada  of  old 
Spain,  fireplace,  crane  and  turnspit,  groined  roof 
and  mullioned  window.  Here  you  dined  with  Quix- 
ote, or  tasted  the  fare  of  a  later  land,  weird  and  fiery- 
dishes — enchiladas,  cliili-con-carne,  tortillas,  atole; 
spiced  .chocolate  or  milky  tizwin  for  drink,  corn-husk 
cigarillos  for  the  devotee. 

It  was  the  lucky  girl  Katie  Quinn  found  herself, 
blessing  the  day  that  brought  the  dream-pedlar  to 
San  Clemente,  seeking  jacinth  and  turquoise. 

Under  another  sky,  Kester,  the  dream-pedlar,  had 
known  Katie 's  father — who  was  father  and  mother 
too,  poor  girl.  But  it  was  not  friendship  for  Tom 
Quinn  which  brought  her  the  chance  to  leave  the 
lonely  hill  town,  though  Katie  thought  so,  not  know- 
ing that  she  herself  brought  the  one  touch  the  dream- 
shop  lacked ;  midnight  hair  and  black-grey  eyes  and 
wild-rose  cheek,  against  Filipa's  flashing  and  stormy 
loveliness,  golden  Ruth,  and  porcelain  Hilda's 
slender  and  flaxen  fairness. 

There  had  been  one  not  so  well  pleased  with 
Katie's  fortune.  That  was  Billy  Boy.  So  Katie 
thought  of  him — Billy  Murray. 

The  full  tide  of  her  fresh-hearted  youth  joyed  in 
the  splendor  and  flashing  lights.  Billy  Boy,  Tom 
Quinn,  whistling  home  down  the  trail,  San  Clemente 
nestled  against  the  hill-slope,  the  white  mines  far 
above,  Ghost  Mountain  breasting  the  golden  air — in 
the  back  of  her  mind,  they  were  faint  and  small  like 
the  drowse  of  a  lone  bee  in  a  pulsing  noon. 

Katie  sold  basketry  and  ores  to  a  pink  and  white 


220  WEST  IS  WEST 

young  man  of  good  taste  and  an  infinity  of  leisure, 
until  he  was  rescued  by  an  anxious  parent;  a  nice 
old  gentleman  beggared  himself  for  gems ;  and  after 
him  came  a  silken  lady  with  a  white  doglet. 

'  *  That  cunning  little  toy  basket — yes,  I  want  that 
for  a  jewel-box.  How  much  for  this  perfectly  lovely 
jade  I  Oh,  that's  too  high!  I  can't  afford  it — now. 
This  lava  paper-weight  is  charming.  I'll  take  that. 
Oh,  I  did  want  those  fire  opals  so  much !  But  I  sup- 
pose I  can't  have  them.  "Where  did  you  say  Mr. 
Kester  got  them?  Queretaro?  Oh,  no — Simapan. 
Wait !  Ask  the  manager  if  he  will  please  put  them 
aside  till  my  husband  can  look  at  them.  Oh,  you  are 
a  new  girl  here — I  had  forgotten  that.  My  husband 
is  Mr.  Julius  Barren.  Perhaps  I  can  coax  him  to 
buy  the  jade,  too.  What  stone  is  that?  Girasol?  I 
never  saw  one  like  it.  Now  let  me  see ;  the  red  and 
black  jar  we  were  looking  at  and  the  Zuni  scarf  and 
the  antlers — that  will  be  all  for  to-day.  Send  a  mes- 
senger with  the  things  at  once.  The  manager  knows 
the  house  number.  My  change,  please." 

"Excuse  me,  madam,  but  the  goods  come  to  more 
than  the  twenty  dollars,"  said  Katie. 

"Twenty  dollars?  Why,  I  gave  you  a  fifty-dollar 
note  when  I  started  to  go,  after  I  first  looked  at  the 
opals." 

"Your  pardon,  madam,  but  it  was  twenty  dollars 
you  gave  me.  See,  I  have  held  it  in  my  hand  all  the 
time."  Katie's  face  grew  pale. 

The  silken  lady  darted  a  terrible  glance  at  her. 
"What's  this !  You  have  changed  it  for  another  bill. 
You  are  a  thief!"  Her  voice  rose.  "Call  the  man- 
ager!" she  demanded  of  Filipa. 


THE  DREAM-SHOP  221 

"But,  Mrs.  Barren,  will  you  not  look  first?"  said 
loyal  Filipa.  *  *  Thees  Katie  is  a  good  girl.  It  is  not 
possible,  what  you  say;  there  is  a  mistake." 

1 1 1  tucked  a  fifty-dollar  bill  in  the  heel  of  my  glove 
when  I  left  Chaney's,  and  gave  it  to  this  swindler 
to  pay  for  the  scarf  and  the  jar.  Will  you  call  the 
manager,  or  shall  I  have  you  discharged,  too  ? ' '  Mrs. 
Barren  passed  from  rage  to  tears. 

So  Katie  was  discharged.  At  the  clock  stroke  life 
had  been  sweet  and  sunny  and  bright  to  her ;  an  hour 
found  her  shamed  and  blackened.  Not  despairing; 
her  spirit  rose  to  fight  against  injustice.  Mr.  Kester 
was  afar  in  Moqui-land;  she  would  appeal  to  him. 
He  would  not  believe  this  dreadful  thing  of  her. 
Meantime  poor  father  must  not  know  —  nor  Billy 
Boy.  She  remembered  an  employment  agency  in  the 
next  block.  There  she  gave  her  slender  qualifica- 
tions and  paid  the  fee. 

''I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear,"  said  a  pleasant 
voice,  as  she  gained  the  street;  "but  I  saw  you  go 
into  the  agency.  I  had  just  come  out,  and  I  cannot 
resist  the  temptation  to  ask  you  if  by  any  chance  you 
do  typewriting?" 

Katie  looked  up  at  the  friendly  face. 

"No,  ma'am,  I  can't.  I  can't  do  anything  much." 
She  was  very  much  alone  and  hungering  for  a 
friendly  face.  She  wished  with  all  her  heart  that  it 
was  closing  time  so  she  might  talk  with  warm- 
hearted Filipa. 

"Oh,  dear!  I'm  sorry.  I  was  so  in  hope  that  you 
did.  You'll  excuse  an  inquisitive  old  woman;  but 
you're  never  going  to  do  housework  —  with  that 
pretty  face?" 


222  LWEST  IS  WEST 

"Not  yet — though  that  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  with 
nice  people.  I  'm  trying  to  get  on  at  the  department 
stores  first." 

"Any  experience?" 

"A  little — but  I  can't  bring  a  recommendation." 
Katie's  lips  quivered. 

"Trouble!  Child,  the  world  is  full  of  trouble." 
Katie's  eyes  were  brimming  now.  "There,  there! 
Don't  cry,  dearie!  Come  into  the  park  and  tell  me 
about  it.  Maybe  I  can  help  you.  I  have  no  daughter 
of  my  own." 

She  was  kind;  she  was  neat  and  pleasant  to  the 
eye;  her  hair  was  graying;  Katie  was  young  and 
unwarned.  "And  I  have  no  mother,"  said  Katie; 
and  told  her  short  story  simply. 

"There,  there!  It's  a  shame!"  said  the  auditor 
warmly,  when  the  story  was  done.  "And  you  think 
this  Mr.  Kester  is  a  just  man?" 

"He  knows  my  father — he  knows  I  couldn't  do  a 
thing  like  that ! ' '  sobbed  Katie. 

The  woman  considered. 

"Let  me  see!  There  are  four  girls,  artists,  where 
I  have  my  rooms.  Studios — top  floor  and  north  light 
— that  sort  of  thing.  But  they  room  there,  too.  They 
hate  getting  their  meals  at  restaurants.  Just  till 
your  Mr.  Kester  comes  back,  would  you  consider 
being  a  play-housekeeper  for  them?  They  have  been 
talking  of  setting  up  a  kitchen  for  weeks  and  weeks. 
It  would  be  easier  than  to  be  a  beginner  in  depart- 
ment stores.  And  they  will  be  wanting  to  put  that 
sparkling  face  of  yours  on  canvas,  or  I  am  the  more 
mistaken." 

Katie  dried  her  eyes. 


THE  DREAM-SHOP  223 

"I'll  try  it,  ma'am,  and  thank  you  for  all  your 
goodness  to  me." 

The  kind  lady  clapped  her  hands  to  applaud  this 
decision. 

1 '  That  's  settled,  then !  Now  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11 
do:  Two  of  the  girls  won't  be  home  to-night.  You 
and  I  will  dine  together  at  the  Plaza.  I'll  send  a  note 
to  your  lodgings  by  a  messenger  boy.  You  can  have 
one  of  my  rooms  to-night  and  we'll  make  arrange- 
ments with  the  young  ladies  the  first  thing  to-mor- 
row. Indeed,  I  will  be  asking  them  if  I  may  be  one 
of  their  family  myself.  Bless  me,  you  don't  even 
know  my  name !  I  am  Mrs.  Holden — Alice  Holden, 
my  dear — and  glad  this  once  that  I  was  born  swivel- 
tongued. " 

That  is  how  and  why,  something  after  seven,  Katie 
went  with  Mrs.  Holden  to  a  street  she  had  never 
seen,  turned  in  at  a  doorway  near  the  corner  of  a 
business  block,  climbed  two  flights  of  stairs,  and  so 
came  happily  into  a  great  hall,  very  large  and  very 
wide,  running  the  full  length  of  the  building;  a  hall 
of  warm,  wide  rugs  and  cushioned  chairs  and  glow- 
ing bulbs,  with  a  broad  skylight  over  the  central 
space.  Under  the  skylight  a  mountain  lion's  hide 
was  spread;  on  the  opposite  wall  was  a  pair  of 
splendid  antlers. 

"Now  you  make  yourself  at  home  here,  dearie," 
said  Katie's  benefactor,  showing  her  to  a  cozy  and 
comfortable  room,  "while  I  run  out  and  ask  about 
the  young  ladies.  I  won't  be  half  an  hour." 

"If  you  please,"  said  Katie  timidly,  "might  I 
write  to  Mr.  Kester  while  you're  gone?" 

The  kind  lady  opened  a  desk. 


224  WEST  IS  WEST 

' '  There  you  are — pen,  paper,  stamps — everything. 
I '11  be  right  back." 

While  Katie  wrote,  Mrs.  Julius  Barron  found  the 
missing  fifty-dollar  bill  in  her  wristbag. 

The  Holden  woman  tapped  at  the  door  at  the  end 
of  the  hall.  It  was  answered  by  a  flashily  dressed 
man  with  a  mean  and  cruel  face. 

" There's  a  country  girl  in  my  room,  Ikey.  See 
that  she  doesn't  get  away  while  I  do  some  telephon- 
ing." 

So  Ikey  lolled  in  a  chair  near  the  stairhead.  Be- 
fore the  first  cigarette  was  smoked  to  a  stub,  three 
men,  loathsome  and  vicious,  came  puffing  up  the 
stairs. 

"Well!  Curly?  Blink?  Ratty?  What  is  this, 
anyway — a  reunion  of  the  Thug  family?"  demanded 
Ikey,  scowling. 

"Yes,  and  more  coming — hear  'em?"  said  Blink. 
* '  The  cops  are  on  the  raid  bigger 'n  a  wolf !  Man  got 
croaked  at  the  Midway — and  two  or  three  guys  lost 
their  rolls  along  the  line  and  put  up  a  holler.  The 
push  is  comin'  here  to  duck.  There's  never  been  any 
rough  stuff  pulled  off  in  this  joint — the  bulls  won't 
look  here." 

"You  got  to  dump  your  gats,  then,"  said  Ikey 
sulkily. 

"Mine  goes  to  the  discard,"  said  a  newcomer, 
shivering.  "There's  rangers  in  that  bunch.  They 
go  too  strong  for  me.  Me,  I  don't  need  no  gun." 

"Well,  I  do!"  growled  another,  pushing  up  the 
stairs.  "Me  gat  stays  right  wid  me — see?" 


THE  DREAM-SHOP  225 

These  sentiments  were  echoed  by  perhaps  a  third 
of  the  refugees.  They  were  the  dregs  of  infamy. 

"Oh,  well;  crowd  into  a  couple  o'  rooms,"  growled 
Ikey.  "I  can't  take  your  guns  off — but,  mind,  if  the 
bulls  come  I  hope  they  croak  you — see  ? ' ' 

There  were  a  dozen  in  the  first  vermin  flight ;  more 
came  later,  white-faced,  slinking. 

Katie  finished  the  letter.  Now  to  mail  it !  She  put 
on  her  hat  before  the  glass;  she  went  into  the  hall, 
smiling;  she  paused  by  the  lion's  hide  to  thrust  for- 
gotten hatpins  through  her  coiling  hair.  Ikey  rose. 

"  Where  you  goin',  missy  V ' 


CHAPTER  XX 

CHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT 

THE  "office"  was  exclusive  and  secluded.  The 
Tivoli  provided  also  three  smaller  rooms  on  the  sec- 
ond floor,  where  pikers  could  lose  their  money  at 
poker,  and  which  were  not  above  using  boosters  to 
start  a  game — or  above  anything  else  except  the 
saloon  on  the  street  floor. 

The  office  was  reserved  for  big  money.  It  was  on 
the  third  floor,  in  a  wide  and  well-furnished  room, 
making  connection  with  the  buffet  by  dumb-waiter 
and  speaking-tube ;  and  it  zealously  fostered  a  prof- 
itable reputation  for  fair-play. 

The  rest  of  the  floor  was  given  to  comfortable  bed- 
rooms. Primarily,  these  were  for  employees;  but 
auspicious  patrons  of  the  office  could  always  find  a 
bed  here,  and  breakfast  brought  for  the  bell-ringing. 
Curiously  enough,  robbing  patrons  while  they  slept 
was  not  permitted.  They  were  the  guests  of  the 
house.  The  Tivoli  was  not  such  a  place  as  the 
Jumbo.  There  are  degrees  in  hell,  report  says. 

When  you  went  broke  in  the  office,  the  house  staked 
you  to  carfare  and  settled  your  hotel  bills — without 
your  asking,  mind  you.  The  office  was  very  popular. 

This  was  when  the  town  was  wide  open.  All  is 
changed  now.  Gambling  is  stamped  out.  But  if  you 
have  energy  and  cash,  you  may  yet  get  action  by 

226 


CHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT  227 

guarded  queries  for  the  pass-word,  being  sure  to  ask 
the  right  person.    Any  person  will  do. 

Even  without  cheating  —  which  brings  up  that 
Hamlet  thing  again — the  Tivoli  was  a  dollar-mill. 
The  kitty,  at  a  five-cent  ante,  totted  to  twenty^four 
dollars  daily  on  each  of  the  lesser  tables.  In  the 
office,  the  minimum  ante  was  a  quarter,  and  there 
was  no  maximum.  The  kitty  swelled  accordingly. 
This  without  counting  winnings  of  the  house-players, 
which,  by  their  greater  experience  and  judgment, 
always  outbalanced  their  losings  in  any  considerable 
length  of  time,  even  without  top-hand  manipulation 
or  " paper." 

At  roulette  the  percentage  in  favor  of  the  house 
was  38  to  36 — enough  to  break  any  player,  how  lucky 
soever,  if  he  played  long  enough;  and  so  on  down 
the  long  line — Twenty- One,  Senate,  Stud,  Craps, 
Seven-and-a-Half — all  of  which  were  dealt  in  the 
main  hall  on  the  second  floor.  On  monte  and  faro, 
dealt  straight,  the  percentage  for  the  game  is  negli- 
gible. Yet  one  lost  as  readily  and  steadily  here  as 
elsewhere ;  a  fact  which  favors  reflection. 

On  the  whole,  losers  disapproved  of  cheating ;  rea- 
soning that  with  such  princely  revenues,  cheating  by 
the  house  is  greedy  and  ill-done.  They  are  en- 
couraged in  this  fallacy  by  the  house;  none  is  so 
loud  in  denunciation  of  cheating  as  the  "  honest 
gambler. ' ' 

There  are  two  sides  to  every  question.  As  to 
greediness,  the  clients  were  ill-informed;  the  outgo 
was  ruinous,  for  overhead  charges,  such  as  rent, 
license  and  plant,  police  protection  and  blackmail. 
Then  there  were  squeals  to  be  squared,  guarding  the 


228  .WEST  IS  WEST 

"good  name"  of  the  house;  and  the  payroll  carried 
high-priced  gunners  and  high-priced  dealers.  Since 
the  last,  unwatched,  seldom  failed  to  lose  largely  to 
a  friend  on  a  fifty-fifty  basis,  there  must  be  high- 
priced  lookouts  as  well.  There  were  also  an  army 
of  cheap  boosters  and  bouncers,  and  an  endless  chain 
of  stranded  gamblers  asking  and  finding  steak- 
money  and  stake-money,  according  to  professional 
tradition.  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  stake-money 
was  faithfully  repaid,  when  a  diamond  ring  had  been 
transferred,  as  a  formality,  to  the  lender.  It  is  for 
this  rainy-day  cause  that  the  gambler  buys  diamonds 
when  flush ;  not  from  inherent  bad  taste. 

To  oppose  the  ordinary  chances  of  fairplay  to  this 
terrific  drain  would  be  hopeless ;  the  charge  of  cupid- 
ity falls.  The  house  was  often  put  to  it  to  furnish 
the  '  *  roll. ' '  Psychology  dictates  the  roll,  the  stacked 
and  gleaming  gold,  the  heaped  bills,  even  the 
"chicken-feed."  To  know  that  winning  bets  will  be 
paid  is  a  small  tempting.  A  different  matter  is  the 
lure  of  tangible  gold — massed,  shining,  seducing, 
drawing  with  fearful  fascination.  The  eyes  sparkle, 
the  fingers  ache  for  it,  the  blood  mounts  to  the  brain. 

The  house  does  not  object  to  an  occasional  big 
winning  by  a  client.  It  is  seed  scattered  for  harvest. 
But,  once  in  a  blue  moon,  some  abnormal  creature 
makes  a  killing,  cashes  in,  goes  out  the  big  door,  and 
never  comes  back!  This  is  the  dreaded  "quitter." 

Now,  anybody  can  make  at  least  one  stupendous 
winning,  in  time — by  wasting  his  life  at  it ;  a  triumph 
of  wild,  blind  luck  over  every  device  known  to  the,, 
fraternity ;  but  few  there  be  who  can  keep  it.  * '  Quit- 
ter" is  the  most  blistering  term  of  the  gambler's 


CHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT  229 

tongue ;  the  gambler's  wife  will  blush  to  hear  it. 

"A  good  sport"  is  the  winner  who  comes  back. 
Gamblers  are  friendly  to  good  sports.  And  it  must 
be  said  that  gamblers  are  a  pleasant  people.  They 
are  paid  and  trained  to  be  pleasant.  It  is  rather  a 
pity  that  it  is  not  fashionable  in  other  professions — 
to  be  pleasant.  To  succeed  greatly  in  the  higher 
walks  of  the  industry,  you  must  be  well-groomed, 
you  must  have  good  looks,  good  health,  good  man- 
ners and  "personal  magnetism."  Many  an  adept  at 
dealing  seconds  or  making  the  pass  has  lost  out  be- 
cause his  teeth  were  bad,  his  smile  alarming,  or  his 
voice  harsh  and  ill-modulated. 

As  to  the  charge  that  cheating  is  unkind  or  wrong, 
it  is  here  denied  in  toto.  Cheating  is  the  one  hopeful 
feature  of  the  business.  Barring  the  almost  extinct 
quitter — few  collectors  have  more  than  one  specimen 
— you  are  doomed  to  lose,  anyway.  The  per  cent, 
gets  you ;  the  better  judgment  of  the  houseman  gets 
you ;  the  trained  and  disciplined  patience,  the  change 
of  shifts,  pitting  your  tired  and  fevered  brain 
against  fresh  antagonists:  all  these  things  eat  you 
up,  whether  your  madness  is  for  days  or  years.  Dis- 
aster stunts  you,  conscience  snarls  at  you,  duty  har- 
ries you.  The  smiling  professional  is  doing  his  duty ; 
his  mind  is  at  ease,  and  easy  money  is  behind  him 
to  repair  disaster;  even  an  occasional  heavy  loss  is 
a  good  advertisement  for  business.  But  if  he  shall 
cheat  you  often  enough  and  crudely  enough,  you  may 
come,  in  a  few  years,  to  realize  that  you  are  a  fool. 
It  takes  longer  for  some. 

So,  the  cheating  seems  kindly  done.  Curiously 
enough,  it  is  not  done  through  kindness.  Nor  is  it 


230  WEST  IS  WEST 

wholly  motived  by  avarice,  as  is  commonly  supposed. 
It  is  from  weariness.  Just  as  the  sucker  plays  for 
excitement,  knowing  it  to  be  dangerous,  the  gambler 
cheats  from  weariness,  knowing  it  to  be  needless. 
The  gambler  is  bored.  He  is  the  most  bored  man  on 
earth.  It  is  his  punishment.  He  can  get  your  money 
without  cheating,  as  easily  as  Thorpe  can  outrun  you 
or  Ty  Cobb  out-bat  you.  But  it  would  take  him 
longer :  and,  in  the  meantime,  he  hates  you.  He  hates 
your  flushed  and  foolish  face,  your  feverish  laughter, 
your  eager  clutching  at  the  cards,  your  invincible, 
futile  hopes;  he  loathes  your  credulous  folly,  that 
will  neither  guess  nor  be  warned,  your  stupidity  that 
will  not  learn;  he  envies  you  alike  the  pleasure  and 
the  pang;  he  cheats  you  because  he  hates  you  and 
despises  you. 

Had  the  players  signed  a  Round  Eobin  as  they  sat 
at  the  round  table,  the  order  would  have  been :  Hike, 
Lumber,  Cigars,  Crooknose,  Travesy  and  Moore — 
which  brings  the  circle  back  again  to  Hike  and 
Houseman.  Lumber  and  Cigars  were  fixtures,  busi- 
ness men  of  the  town ;  they  laughed,  they  told  stories, 
they  made  freak  bets,  they  went  the  high-spade  for 
drinks. 

Crooknose  was  at  once  the  youngest  and  the  most 
mature  of  the  party.  He  was  unknown.  For  three 
days  that  ominous  maturity  of  quiet  eye  and  strong 
brown  hands  that  wasted  no  motion  had  oppressed 
poor  Hike  to  shameful  honesty.  He  knew  the  breed. 
Evans — so  Crooknose  gave  his  name — played  a  stiff 
game,  at  unexpected  flashes  a  brilliant  one;  lapsing 
as  unexpectedly  to  the  safe  and  sane,  and  showing 
an  uncanny  instinct  against  disaster.  He  said  little, 


CHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT  2311 

made   no   post   mortems,    and   drank   not   at   all. 

Travesy — a  huge  man,  scarlet-faced  and  over- 
dressed— was  in  reality  part  owner  of  the  Tivoli,  but 
the  connection  was  carefully  concealed.  His  cue  was 
rough  good  nature,  his  business  to  inspire  confidence. 
"When  his  chips  were  taken  away  and  he  endeavored 
to  buy  more  without  cash,  the  transaction  was  re- 
fused: "to  encourage  the  others." 

"I  know  you're  all  right,  but  I  can't  do  business 
on  jawbone.  Sorry — but  it's  strictly  against  rules," 
said  Hike. 

So  Travesy,  visibly  miffed,  left  a  marker  to  hold 
his  chair,  and  came  back  presently  with  much  money. 
These  things  had  their  effect.  When  Hike  and  Tra- 
vesy fought  out  a  jackpot  between  themselves,  the 
showdown  usually  disclosed  a  scandalous  bluff  — 
privately  remarked  by  Lumber,  Cigars,  and  Jack 
Moore,  promoter,  who  also  joyed  over  the  goodly 
gains  taken  by  Travesy  from  the  house,  to  the  vast 
chagrin  of  Hike.  But  Crooknose  Evans  noted  that 
their  bluffing  was  purely  mutual ;  when  others  called 
an  unreasonable  bet,  the  only  chance  to  win  was  to 
beat  a  big  hand.  Silent  Mr.  Evans  also  noticed  how 
these  two  cross-lifted  a  luckless  victim  between  them 
— and  drew  his  own  conclusions. 

Promoter  Moore,  with  Hike  on  his  left  and  Tra- 
vesy on  his  right,  was  pro  tempore  offensively 
wealthy;  also,  of  his  proper  nature,  permanently 
offensive  and  overbearing:  for  both  which  reasons 
the  Tivoli  desired  his  heart.  Inopportune  Mr.  Evans 
had  delayed  this  consummation;  he  had  Mr.  Hike's 
number.  Twice  in  three  days,  Travesy,  ably  sec- 
onded by  the  promoter's  purse-pride,  had  tried  to 


232  WEST  IS  WEST 

put  Crooknose  out  of  the  game  by  making  the  come- 
in  too  large  for  him;  but  that  imperturbable  gentle- 
man had  brought  forth,  without  comment,  sums 
surprising  for  one  of  his  careless  appearance. 

Moore,  with  the  brutal  callousness  of  a  winner, 
now  spoke  openly  of  a  trip  to  Arizona ;  Erie  would 
relieve  Hike  at  eight  o'clock;  and  Travesy,  impati- 
ent, gave  Hike  the  signal  for  Big  Business.  They 
played  all  jackpots.  On  Moore's  deal  no  one  opened. 

"And  you  cash  in  every  night  at  twelve,  Mr. 
Evans?"  said  Travesy,  as  Hike  dealt. 

"Yes.    I  believe  in  the  eight-hour  day." 

"Knew  a  man  once,"  boomed  Travesy,  in  his 
rough,  hearty  way,  "that  set  himself  another  sort 
of  limit.  When  he  won  a  hundred  dollars  or  lost  a 
hundred,  no  matter  what  time  it  was,  he  quit  for  the 
night.  Sounds  like  a  good  plan,  doesn't  it?" 

"I  used  to  win  one  day  and  lose  the  next,"  said 
Moore.  "Now  I  only  play  every  other  day." 

'  *  Heavens !  I  never  could  do  that ! ' '  said  Cigars 
genially.  "I'm  out  for  the  fun  more  than  the 
money. ' ' 

"I'm  out  for  the  money,"  said  Evans. 

Lumber  passed;  Cigars  passed,  showing  Lumber 
the  high  spade;  and  ordered  more  of  the  same. 
Evans  passed;  Travesy  passed.  Moore  opened  for 
a  small  stack.  But  the  game  was  a  big  game ;  every 
man  round  the  board  had  won  and  lost  alternately; 
buying  more  chips  when  he  lost;  and  the  smallest 
stacks  were  staggering,  measured  by  day-wage. 

Hike  looked  over  his  cards,  laughed  carelessly,  and 
stayed ;  Lumber  and  Cigars  passed ;  Evans  stayed. 

"  I  '11  draw  with  you  boys  myself.    I  ought  to  raise, 


CHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT  233 

but  I  haven't  the  nerve,"  said  Travesy.    "One  card, 
when  you  get  to  me. ' ' 

"Asleep  at  the  switch!"  said  Hike  in  deep  vexa- 
tion. ' '  I  don't  suppose  Moore  would  have  laid  down, 
but  I  wouldn't  have  had  you  two  fiends  drawing  to 
four-card  flushes  on  us.  Still,  I  couldn't  very  well 
raise.  I  don't  mind  letting  you  fellows  see  what  I 
am  going  to  draw  to. ' '  He  discarded  two  and  spread 
the  others,  face  up.  "Two  tens  and  a  spike  ace. 
Goin'  to  have  a  cheap  draw,  I  was,  and  try  for  aces- 
up,  or  thirty  miles  of  railroad.  Oh,  well!  Cards, 
gentlemen?" 

Evans,  Travesy  and  Moore  drew  one  each.  Hike 
drew  two  and  pushed  the  deck  over  to  Lumber. 

Promoter  Moore  had  been  dealt  two  kings,  the  ace 
of  spades,  the  joker  and  a  trash  card.  The  joker  is 
always  an  ace  in  Texas.  He  drew  a  third  king  and 
bet  largely. 

"I  hope  you  gentlemen  make  your  flushes,  I'm 
sure.  The  more  the  merrier."  Hike  looked  at  his 
draw,  knuckled  his  chin,  and  stayed.  * '  Oho !  Caught 
your  other  ten?  Hard  luck,  old  man — hard  luck!" 
said  Moore. 

Crooknose  Evans,  unhurried,  sized  a  stack  up  to 
the  promoter's  bet. 

"Afraid  to  raise — on  a  flush?"  taunted  the  pro- 
moter. "Bah!" 

"I  always  play  my  hand  to  suit  myself,  you 
know,"  said  Evans,  unangered.  "And  this  looks 
like  a  good  place  to  get  off.  What  you  got?" 

"Hold  on!  Ho-old  on !"  boomed  Travesy.  "I'm 
in  this  thing ! ' '  He  raised  the  pot  for  another  stack. 
"Mine's  all  green.  The  hide  goes  with  the  tallow  1" 


234  WEST  IS  WEST 

' '  All  green  1  That  won 't  buy  you  much.  Your  one 
only  play  was  to  call.  Evans  played  his  hand  right. 
He  understands  poker, "  said  Moore.  His  piggy  eyes 
shone  greed;  his  pulpy  cheeks  tightened  to  a  cruel 
sneer.  "Now  I'm  going  to  prize  the  roof  off. 
There's  no  use  sending  a  boy  to  mill."  He  raised 
with  an  insulting  flourish.  "I  always  expected  to 
make  a  hog-killing  in  this  joint!" 

Hike  saw  the  doubled  raise  and  raised  yet  again. 

"I've  got  one  more  squeal  in  me,  at  that!" 

Quietly  and  unhurried,  Mr.  Evans  saw  the  three 
successive  raises  and  further  contributed  his  entire 
pile  of  expensive  chips;  a  goodly  pile,  for  he  had 
been  winning. 

"Domino!"  said  Mr.  Evans  mildly. 

Travesy  flung  down  his  hand.  He  had  nothing; 
his  bets  had  been  made  to  tempt  the  Moore  money 
to  the  open.  He  was  a  hardened  gambler,  but  he 
eyed  Crooknose  askance.  A  fortune  was  at  stake 
beyond  any  previous  hazard  of  the  Tivoli.  He  knew 
that  Evans  had  not  been  expected  in  on  the  play;  it 
was  possible  that  pure  chance  had  sent  him  better 
cards  than  the  four  tens  which  Hike  was  to  hold.  For 
the  house  must  merely  win,  without  frequent  holding 
of  invincible  hands,  which  is  bad  form. 

Moore's  arrogant  manner  had  left  him;  sweat 
stood  on  his  heavy  jowl;  he  called,  but  his  hand 
twitched.  He  had  few  chips  left. 

Hike  called.  Hike  also  felt  curiosity  as  to  the 
chance-held  hand  of  friend  Evans.  But,  after  all,  it 
was  not  Hike's  money,  and  he  was  acting  under  in- 
structions ;  all  he  had  to  lose  was  a  job.  Besides,  he 
had  warned  Travesy  against  Evans. 


CHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT  235 

"It's  hard  to  hold  my  mouth  just  right,"  he  con- 
fessed. "All  right,  Mr.  Evans.  Beat  me  and  buy 
the  drinks!" 

"Beat  you!"  Moore  smote  the  table  with  his 
heavy  fist.  "Damn  you,  Hike,  I've  got  you  skinned 
a  mile !  I'm  sweating  blood,  but  there's  the  man  I'm 
afraid  of. ' '  He  jerked  his  thumb  at  Evans.  "You — 
you've  got  a  ten-full  at  best.  You  can't  have  an  ace- 
full,  for  one  ace  was  faced  in  the  discard.  Here's 
mine!"  He  spread  down  his  king-full. 

"I  am  also  afraid  of  Mr.  Evans — not  of  you.  I 
have  here  four  large,  juicy  tens — forty  miles  of  rail- 
road !  What  is  it,  Evans — a  gold  chain  or  a  wooden 
leg?  What  you  got?" 

"Oh,  me?"  said  Crooknose  pleasantly.  "I  got  a 
six-full!"  It  appeared,  a  clicking  flash  in  his  left 
hand;  the  muzzle  was  at  Travesy's  ear  "Quiet!" 

Quiet  ensued. 

"Mr.  Moore,  pass  your  left  hand  carefully  under 
the  edge  of  the  table  toward  Mr.  Hike.  You  will 
find  two  cards  there,  held  in  a  clip.  Mr.  Hike  ex- 
changed them  for  his  two  tens.  I  saw  him  do  it. 
Coarse  work,  Hike ;  coarse  work !  You  grieve  me ! ' ' 

Mr.  Moore  produced  the  cards.  Mr.  Moore  was 
subdued — not  to  say  extinct. 

"Now,  Mr.  Hike,  go  softly  and  bring  the  bankroll 
from  the  checkrack.  Very  softly!  The  bills  only. 
Never  mind  the  hard  stuff.  ...  I  thank  you!  I 
will  not  stay  till  twelve  to-night,  I  believe.  This  will 
do  me  nicely.  Moore,  you  are  entitled  to  this  little 
pot — you  had  the  high  hand,  leaving  Hike  out.  I'll 
keep  the  money  and  you  take  the  chips.  Tinhorn 
Travesy  will  cash  'em.  He  can't  afford  to  chiprack 


236"  WEST  IS  WEST 

you.  He's  the  owner,  you  know.  By  the  way,  Tra- 
vesy  had  nothing  in  his  hand  but  cards — same  as  I 
did.  He  was  just  in  to  cross-lift  you.  Well,  I  must 
be  going.  Got  a  gun,  Travesy?  Never  mind,  keep  it. 
You're  welcome  to  follow  me — but,  if  you  come,  come 
a-shooting!"  He  backed  out,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind him. 

As  young  Evans  ran  swiftly  down  the  stair,  he 
knew  that  the  speaking  tube  was  in  action.  Could 
he  gain  the  street  by  speed,  or  must  he  fight  his  way 
out  I  Neither :  he  did  what  may  be  expected  from  his 
kind ;  the  unexpected. 

By  terrible  and  evil  ways  his  reckless  feet  had 
reached  that  silent  stairway.  Perhaps  they  were  sent 
there.  Midstep  between  foot  and  floor  he  made  a 
swift  choice ;  and  so,  unknowing,  turned  his  back  on 
shame  forever. 

He  entered  the  swinging  doors  of  the  long  gamb- 
ling room  on  the  second  floor,  passed  through  quietly, 
unnoticed  in  the  crowd,  and  went  hurriedly  up  a  rear 
stairway  to  the  floor  he  had  just  quitted,  even  as  his 
late  companions  poured  down  the  front  way  to  swell 
the  alarm.  There  was,  as  he  knew,  a  way  to  the  roof 
— half  stair,  half  ladder.  He  unhooked  the  door  and 
stepped  out  into  the  hot,  still  night. 

The  Tivoli  was  on  a  corner.  In  the  starlight  he 
turned  northward  across  the  uneven,  flat  roofs, 
searching  for  a  way  of  escape,  through  another  build- 
ing ;  and  so,  near  the  further  end  of  the  block,  he  saw 
a  mellow  glow  ahead.  It  came  through  a  skylight. 
He  knelt  beside  it  and  peeped  down  into  a  lighted 
hall. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CROOKNOSE  REPRESENTS 

THERE  were  antlers  on  the  wall;  a  lion's  skin  was 
on  the  floor;  a  girl  stood  beyond,  just  putting  the 
pins  in  her  hat.  Evans  could  see  her  face;  it  was 
fresh  and  smiling  and  happy.  She  took  a  step  for- 
ward ;  a  man  came  to  meet  her.  A  little  corner  was 
broken  from  a  pane — Evans  heard  their  speech. 

"Where  you  goin',  missy?"  said  Ikey. 

The  girl  drew  herself  up,  startled. 

"I  don't  know  you,  sir!" 

She  stepped  aside  to  pass  him ;  but  Ikey  kept  be- 
side her. 

"Leaving?  Oh,  I  guess  not!  You're  going  back 
to  your  room — that's  what!" 

Her  voice  shook. 

"I '11  call  for  help!" 

' '  '  Help '  ? "  He  laughed  cruelly.  ' '  Help  I  Take 
a  good  look!" 

Her  hand  was  at  her  throat.  A  sudden  knot  of 
men  were  in  the  hallway  —  four — six  —  eight;  still 
they  came  from  opening  doors — rat-faced,  grinning, 
leering — Oh,  Billy  Boy!  Father! 

On  the  roof,  unseen,  Crooknose  rose,  snarling — • 
the  clean  and  wholesome  scoundrel.  A  woman 
glanced  from  a  doorway  and  turned  back,  indiffer- 
ent, shameful.  Then  Katie  knew. 

237 


238  ;WEST  IS  WEST 

"Oh,  God!"  The  word  came  in  a  dreadful  shriek. 
Ikey's  hand  was  on  her  mouth. 

"God?"  croaked  Ikey.  "If  God  has  any  affairs 
in  this  house,  He'd  better  represent!" 

He  said  no  more  on  earth.  Crooknose  crashed 
through  the  skylight,  shooting  as  he  came.  He  shot 
as  he  fell,  sprawling;  he  shot  again  from  hand  and 
knee.  Thrice  dead,  Ikey  dragged  the  girl  down  as 
he  fell. 

The  flash  and  roar  of  many  guns;  Crooknose 
charged.  Flame  darted  before  him  and  men  fell  at 
the  flame.  Katie  saw  him,  blazing,  terrible,  alone. 
He  staggered  through  lances  of  intersecting  fire ;  his 
heavy  gun  crashed  out  a  shrieking  face;  he  sprang 
aside,  in,  out  and  back;  and  smote  and  parried,  and 
smote  again.  There  was  a  rush  of  swift  help — to  aid 
the  ten  against  one.  Shouts,  oaths — screaming,  hid- 
eous faces,  glitter  of  guns,  down-striking — all  rushed 
together  as  the  mercy  of  blackness  came  to  her. 

Crooknose  fought  on.  His  last  cartridge  was  fired 
as  he  broke  through  the  bullet  zone.  Pain  tore  him ; 
arms  clutched  at  him ;  they  bore  him  down ;  he  was 
up,  he  struck  with  gun  and  fist  and  foot  and  knee. 
They  were  too  many,  they  could  not  shoot  without 
killing  each  other;  the  blows  of  guns  and  ;arms 
crashed  together  in  midair  to  save  him;  they  slipped 
on  blood,  they  trampled  on  living  bodies,  they 
crushed  him,  they  were  dragging  him  down !  A  hel- 
met at  the  stairhead,  a  bluecoat — Gannon ! 

Evans  heaved  up ;  he  broke  his  gun-arm  loose  and 
hammered ;  he  shouted  high  and  clear : 

' '  A  straight  girl,  Bullneck !    Get  her  out ! ' ' 

* '  Ho  -01"    bellowed    Gannon.      His    automatic 


CROOKNOSE  REPRESENTS         239 

pumped  death  into  the  shuddering  tangle  —  three 
shots.  Then,  from  an  alcove,  other  macque-mQH 
poured  upon  him;  arms  choked  him  from  behind; 
hands  twisted  the  gunbarrel  aside.  Gannon  heaved 
and  twisted  and  strained;  his  great  arms  crushed 
and  lifted;  the  man  clutching  the  automatic  felt  the 
stair  rail  at  his  hip,  bent  back  and  fell  screaming 
down  the  stairwell  to  death ;  the  gun  went  with  him. 
The  choking  arms  at  Gannon's  neck  relaxed,  a  foe 
fled  down  the  stair.  Gannon  rushed  on,  roaring, 
blood-mad.  Forgotten  was  the  nightstick  in  the 
Bling ;  two  Irish  fists  swung  out,  he  plowed  a  way  into 
that  hell  of  hate.  Bullneck  and  Crooknose,  grafter 
and  thief — they  struck  and  swung  and  fought  the 
shame  and  the  men  of  shame ;  struck  and  staggered 
and  came  again. 

The  hammering  gun  rose  slowly  now,  it  fell  feebly. 
Crooknose  reeled  and  stumbled,  his  left  arm  hung 
helpless,  his  eye  was  glazing.  He  struck  once  more, 
a  wild  and  random  blow ;  hands  caught  his  wrists  and 
twisted ;  the  gun  dropped.  The  hands  dived  for  it ; 
but  Crooknose  took  a  neck  in  the  choking  crook  of 
his  arm — a  neck  that  went  with  the  hands  —  and 
dropped  to  a  huddle  on  the  floor,  dragging  the  neck 
with  him  in  the  locked  arm.  A  thug  bent  over  him, 
with  a  pistol  to  his  very  ear ;  and  fell,  faceless,  before 
Gannon's  heavy  boot.  Loyal  Bullneck  bestrode  his 
fallen  ally.  His  hand  fell  to  the  forgotten  billy;  he 
swung  out  mightily ;  hell  beat  upon  him.  .  .  .  Ages 
after,  the  snarling  faces  faded  away. 

Gannon  looked  down  then  at  sprawling  Crooknose, 
and  mused  at  him.  The  clothes  were  torn  from 
Crooknose ;  he  was  bare  to  the  waist,  blood  gushing 


24o  WEST  IS  WEST 

along  the  white  skin,  blood  on  his  tawny  hair,  a  black- 
ened face  gripped  under  his  arm.  It  was  very  cu- 
rious, thought  Gannon,  only  dimly  aware  that  shout- 
ing men  poured  from  the  stairway — Captain  Hughes 
of  the  Rangers,  roundsmen,  citizens — or  that  such 
macque-men  as  were  not  writhing  on  the  floor,  or 
lying  very  still  there,  stood  hands  up  before  a  score 
of  pistols. 

" Gannon!    Gannon!    What's  happened  here?' ' 

Gannon  stood  in  drifting  smoke  and  passed  a  hand 
stupidly  across  his  face.  This  was  McCabe,  his  ser- 
geant, calling  him.  Now  how  did  McCabe  get  here? 
Gannon  looked  beyond  McCabe  to  Hughes  of  the 
Bangers;  he  spoke  jerkily,  breathless,  groping  for 
words : 

"Captain  Hughes — straight  girl  here!  He  said 
so — Crooknose.  You,  Captain — straight  man  your- 
self— you  take  care  of  her !  Back  there,  she  is.  Take 
her  home  yourself.  Mustn't  let  nobody  see  I" 

He  looked  down  to  Crooknose  for  further  counsel. 

Captain  Hughes  knelt  by  Katie.  "Just  fainted! 
I'll  take  care  of  her,"  he  reported.  "But  this  man 
here  is  most  mighty  dead!  Three  shots!  Some 
shooting!  Who  did  it,  Gannon?" 

Gannon  pointed  with  his  nightstick. 

"Him — Crooknose.  Dead,  I  guess.  Never  mind. 
Him  and  me — old  Crooknose — we  done  it!"  He 
smiled  foolishly  and  sank  to  a  place  beside  his  friend. 

"Lord!"  said  Hughes,  as  he  lifted  Katie  and 
crossed  the  shambles.  "All  this  was  while  we  was 
getting  upstairs!  I  wasn't  twenty  yards  from  the 
door  at  the  first  shot!" 


CROOKNOSE  REPRESENTS         241, 

"Hurt?  Who?  Him?  Crooknose?"  said  Gannon, 
propped  and  bandaged  in  a  hospital  bed.  "Divil  a 
bit !  Arm  and  some  ribs  broke ;  shot  a  little  around 
the  edges;  a  few  taps  on  the  head;  maybe  a  bruise 
here  and  there  along  the  rest  of  him — nothing  se- 
rious. He 's  all  right !  God  certainly  is  good  to  the 
Irish!" 

"Irish  nothing!  Evans  is  a  good  Welsh  name,  as 
all  the  world  knows,"  said  Captain  Hughes  hotly. 
"Do  you  stick  to  your  shamrock  and  Saint  Patrick 
and  do  not  be  robbing  your  neighbors !" 

"If  his  name  is  really  Evans?"  said  the  Chief  of 
Police  sourly.  "Evans  or  John  Doe,  it's  a  nice  stone 
cell  for  his  when  he  gets  well ! ' ' 

"For  the  looting  of  the  Tivoli,  is  it?  Him?  And 
after  that  fight  he  made?"  Gannon  sat  up  in  bed, 
his  eyes  fever-bright,  and  shook  a  bandaged  fist  at 
his  astounded  chief.  * '  Hear  me  now,  ye  black  scut ! 
You  can  put  the  rollers  under  me  and  damned  to 
you — but  touch  one  hair  of  the  brindle  head  of  him 
and  I  br-r-eak  you,  ye  gr-rafter!" 


DICK 
CHAPTER  XXII 

PRIVATES  OP  INDUSTRY 

"WELL?"  Mendenhall  smiled  broadly.  "Do  you 
hear  opportunity  kicking  in  the  front  door?  Shall 
we  let  her  in,  or  do  we  call  the  police  ? ' ' 

A  cone  of  mellow  light  fell  softly  on  one  corner 
of  a  Gargantuan  desk.  A  few  bits  of  ore  were  scat- 
tered within  that  shining  circle,  samples  from  the 
Torpedo-Sundown  Consolidated.  Clem  Gray  laid  a 
paper  beside  them.  His  hand  trembled  a  little. 

"If  you're  sure  the  assay  is  straight  and  if 
there's  any  such  body  of  ore  as  your  borings  indi- 
cate— why,  with  copper  the  price  it  is,  we  are  all 
rich.  The  Torpedo  is  a  made  mine." 

"Clem,"  said  Mendenhall,  "you  amuse  me;  you 
do  indeed.  Your  simplicity  is  quite  refreshing.  As 
your  poor  father  would  have  phrased  it,  you  are  a 
pointblank  fool.  You  seem  to  think  I  am  going  to 
let  the  stockholders  in  on  this.  Guess  again." 

"But — how — why "    stammered    Gray.     His 

face  was  blank. 

"I'll  spell  it  out  to  you."  Mendenhall  sat  back  in 
his  swivel  chair  and  grinned  complacency.  "You're 
on  your  feet,  Clem;  push  over  that  box  of  cigars, 
will  you?  Help  yourself.  Sit  down." 

242 


PRIVATES  OF  INDUSTRY         243 

"Now,"  he  continued,  when  his  cigar  was  fairly 
alight,  " here's  the  proposition:  No  one  is  to  make 
one  round  red  copper  cent  but  you  and  me  and  the 
superintendent  —  unless  we're  absolutely  forced  to 
let  old  J.  C.  in.  We  may  have  to  do  that  to  pull  it 
off.  I  would  much  prefer  to  skin  him.  Bull-headed, 
overbearing  old  roughneck,  Armstrong  is.  But  he 
owns  a  biggish  share  of  stock — what  your  dad  sold 
him — and  he's  from  Missouri."  " 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea  of  what  you  are  talking 
about, ' '  declared  Gray. 

Leaning  forward,  Mendenhall  laid  his  heavy  hand 
on  Gray's  knee. 

"We'll  freeze  out  the  minority  stockholders. 
Nothing  doing  but  assessments,  trouble  and  more 
trouble  from  now  on  until  we  can  buy  their  interests 
at  our  own  price. ' ' 

"My  aunt!'*  Young  Gray  sat  up  with  a  feeble 
giggle.  "And  their  money  paid  for  all  the  develop- 
ment work,  didn't  it?" 

"Your  father  and  I  put  in  the  mine  for  half  the 
capital  stock.  The  proceeds  from  sale  of  the  other 
half  developed  the  mine,  certainly. ' ' 

"And  every  cent  the  mine  has  produced  has  gone 
right  back  into  it  for  more  machinery,  buildings, 
wagon  roads,"  cackled  Gray.  "All  the  money  that 
might  have  gone  for  dividends  ? ' ' 

"Well,  not  quite  all.  Some  of  it  went  for  operat- 
ing expenses.  Your  father,  as  president  and  general 
manager,  and  myself,  as  secretary — we  drew  good 
salaries,  Clem;  quite  fair,  quite  fair!"  said  Menden- 
hall complacently.  *  *  The  mine  superintendent,  too — 
man  of  great  technical  knowledge — his  salary  was  a 


244  WEST  IS  WEST 

fat,  juicy  cut.  Your  dad  and  I,  we  had  the  naming 
of  the  superintendent,  and  we  made  a  very  satisfac- 
tory arrangement  with  him.  We  bought  supplies, 
too;  let  contracts  for  freighting,  for  mine  timbers, 
and  all  that. ' ' 

"Stop,  Uncle  Herman;  you'll  be  the  death  of  me," 
said  Clem  Gray.  "Oh,  you  sly  old  dog!  You  and 
the  old  man  were  getting  yours,  no  matter  what  the 
mine  did,  eh?" 

' '  Mining  is  a  risky  and  uncertain  business.  I  never 
cared  much  for  mining.  Other  people's  money,  my 
son — other  people's  money — that's  the  surest  thing 
there  is.  And,  of  course,  there  was  always  a  chance 
that  the  mine  might  pay.  The  Bennett- Stephenson 
has  been  a  steady  producer  since  sixty-six.  Strictly 
speaking,  the  Torpsuncon  has  always  made  a  modest 
return  on  the  investment.  But  we  have  paid  few 
dividends,  except  at  first,  because"  —  Mendenhall 
coughed  modestly — "because  of  our  foresighted  pol- 
icy of  reinvestment  for  permanent  betterment. ' ' 

"And  now  that  you've  really  struck  something 
big  —  by  the  use  and  risk  of  their  money  —  you're 
going  to  take  it  away  from  'em!"  Young  Gray 
rocked  with  glee;  his  voice  was  a  thin  crow.  "Oh, 
this  is  too  rich!  Gets  'em  comin'  and  goin' — what? 
You're  the  ticket,  gov'nor!  I  string  my  bets  along 
with  you.  Go  on,  tell  us  how  you're  goin'  to  do  it. 
I'm  sure  I  don't  see." 

"Easy  as  silk.  Since  your  father  died,  I've  acted 
as  both  president  and  secretary,  and  Spencer  has 
been  both  superintendent  and  general  manager.  It 
was  our  own  proposition.  We  put  it  up  to  the  stock- 
holders, as  a  measure  of  economy — clear  saving  of 


PRIVATES  OF  INDUSTRY         245 

two  salaries — self-denying  ordinance.  'Twas  much 
appreciated.  But  we  were  figuring  on  this  very  pos- 
sibility. The  mine  kept  shaping  up  better  as  we  went 
down,  and  we  wanted  to  have  everything  in  our  own 
hands.  Spencer  is  my  man.  I  can  hang  him  or  get 
him  a  life  sentence  at  best.  To  make  sure,  I  gave 
him  a  bunch  of  stock.  Five  thousand  shares.  He's 
mine. ' ' 

' 'Excuse  me  if  I  interrupt,  but  why  did  you  take 
me  in?" 

"Mostly  because  I  need  your  votes  to  retain  con- 
trol," explained  the  elder  man  simply.  "Partly,  I 
hope,  because  you  are  old  Pete  Gray's  son.  Pete  and 
me  was  pardners  all  our  lives.  We've  seen  more 
downs  than  ups,  I  want  to  tell  you.  You  may  not 
believe  it,  but  Pete  and  me  were  fairly  decent  chaps 
when  we  were  down — and  young.  Gettin'  old  and 
up  is  what  plays  hell  with  a  man.  However,  comma, 
old  Pete's  boy  is  different  from  other  folks — to  me. 
Not  but  what  you  want  to  watch  me,"  he  added 
hastily. 

Gray  reassured  him. 

"I'll  keep  an  eye  on  you,  all  right.  A  man  that 
will  play  this  merry  little  prank  on  his  backers  will 
do  most  anything." 

"That's  funny,  too — your  dad  never  would  stand 
for  this  play  I'm  pulling  off,"  said  the  old  man  mus- 
ingly. "I've  talked  it  over  with  him.  'Aw,  give  the 
poor  boobs  a  run  for  their  money,  Hermie,'  he  says. 
'Give  'em  a  fair  break  at  what  little  outside  chance 
they've  got,'  he  says.  But  since  he  died,  when  any 
working  began  showing  up  extra  good,  Spence  and 
me  took  the  gangs  off  and  set  'em  to  work  somewhere 


246  WEST  IS  WEST 

else.  The  old  Torpedo  has  been  shipping  nothing 
but  her  lowest  grade  ore — and,  by  George,  she's  paid 
a  little,  even  so,  and  freightin'  forty  miles  to  a  rail- 
road. But  this  is  the  first  ore  body  we  've  ever  struck 
worth  the  trouble  of  playing  the  freezout  game  to 
a  finish.  It's  going  to  need  careful  playing,  too. 
Hey !  "What  are  you  looking  so  glum  about  1 ' ' 

"While  you  were  shipping  low-grade  ore  and  cut- 
ting out  dividends — suppose  I  had  sold  out,  hey?" 
demanded  Gray  indignantly.  "Nice  game,  ain't  it — • 
and  me  in  the  dark?  Oh,  you'll  bear  watching,  all 
right— fox!" 

"Now  listen  here,  Clemmy,  didn't  I  always  advise 
you  not  to  sell?  Listen  now,  didn't  I  tell  you  if  you 
needed  money  not  to  sell  Torpedo,  to  come  to  me 
every  time,  that  I'd  lend  you  money — didn't  I,  Clem? 
You  musn't  go  to  thinkin'  that  of  me.  A  fellow's  got 
to  believe  in  something,  and  he's  got  to  be  square 
with  some  one.  Not  on  your  own  account  altogether, 
but  old  Pete's  boy — I  wouldn't  do  old  Pete's  boy. 
Honest,  I  meant  to  let  you  in  all  along,  if  the  play 
came  off." 

"Oh,  so  you  say,"  said  Clem  sulkily. 

"Don't  you  believe  me,  Clem?  You  don't  have  to 
believe  me — see  for  yourself.  I  had  to  have  you, 
Clem — had  to  have  your  stock  to  pull  it  off.  I 
couldn't  buy  you  out  if  I  wanted  to.  Haven't  got 
the  money.  That's  right.  I've  been  blowin'  in  the 
mazuma  like  a  carpenter  sows  nails.  But  you've  got 
a  lot  of  old  Pete 's  money  yet.  You  put  your  money 
in  against  my  brains  and  we  hammer  Torpedo  down 
and  buy  it  all.  You  and  me  and  Spence  own  about 
forty  per  cent,  of  the  mine  between  us — so  much  that 


PRIVATES  OF  INDUSTRY         247 

we  can  easy  run  things  to  suit  ourselves,  for  all  the 
resident  stockholders  can  do.  They  ain't  likely  to 
interfere,  anyhow.  The  scheme  I'm  going  to  work 
will  make  them  fall  right  in  and  help  cut  their  own 
throats — you'll  see!  Old  Armstrong  is  the  only  one 
I'm  afraid  of,  him  and  his  old,  long,  hard  head.  If 
he  gets  his  back  up,  we'll  just  have  to  take  him  in, 
that's  all.  With  him,  we'll  have  a  clear  majority  of 
the  stock,  Eastern  proxies  and  all — but,  Lordy,  I 
hate  to  go  snooks  with  J.  C." 

" Would  he  come  in?" 

"Who — J.  C.I  On  the  high  moral  lay,  you  mean? 
Hell,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that!  Maybe  he  wouldn't. 
We'll  make  a  big  try  without  him." 

"What's  your  scheme?  I'm  quite  in  the  dark.  I 
understand  that  none  of  the  good  ore  went  to  the 
company  assayer.  The  suckers  won't  have  any  way 
of  knowing  we've  struck  it  rich.  That's  as  far  as 
I've  got.  Go  on  from  there." 

"We'll  have  a  strike.  Tie  up  the  mine  indefi- 
nitely, ' '  said  Mendenhall,  with  an  oily  smile.  ' '  These 
chuckle-headed  Cornishmen  are  ripe  for  it.  They've 
been  growling  for  more  mine  props  and  four  dollars, 
and  every  gang  to  do  their  own  timberin'.  Spencer 
will  give  'em  less  stulls  and  poor  lagging;  he'll  put 
a  gang  of  Mexicans  timberin'  up — measures  of  econ- 
omy, which  will  commend  themselves  to  the  support 
of  the  stockholders — that  sort  of  thing." 

"On  the  level,"  said  Clem,  "those  suckers  ought 
to  be  robbed — stockholders,  not  miners.  I'm  rather 
an  ass  myself,  as  you  so  kindly  remind  me  from  time 
to  time ;  but  even  so,  I  can  see  that  safe  timbering  is 
the  cheapest  timbering." 


248  WEST  IS  WEST 

Mendenhall  tugged  at  his  square  gray  beard  and 
eyed  his  young  guest  reflectively. 

''Sure.  That's  because  you  really  know  a  little 
about  the  work  at  first  hand.  Perhaps  you  wouldn't 
be  such  a  fool,  Clem,  if  you  had  done  more  work.  I 
always  warned  Pete  he  was  making  a  mistake  with, 
you.  Lord,  it's  a  queer  world!  If  your  mother  had 
lived,  we  might  all  have  been  different — you,  any- 
how. She  named  you  after  this  old  town,  boy. ' ' 

"  Never  mind  about  me.  I  get  ample  information 
about  myself  every  day,  from  the  most  surprising 
quarters.  You  had  got  as  far  as  dealing  mine  props 
from  the  bottom, "  prompted  Clem.  "Go  on  from 
there." 

"Oh,  yes!  Spence'll  turn  'em  down,  and  he'll  do 
it  ugly.  If  necessary,  he'll  cut  their  wages  to  three 
dollars.  They're  getting  three-fifty  now,  and  want- 
ing four.  It  won't  be  necessary.  Hot-headed  bunch, 
these  old-timers — and  they  really  should  have  more 
timbers  than  they've  been  getting  lately.  They  know 
it;  they'll  quit  on  that  proposition  without  waiting 
to  see  about  wages.  And  there's  a  hundred  mean 
little  ways  of  irritating  men — ways  that  these  inar- 
ticulate people  won't  be  able  to  explain." 

"Maybe  only  part  of  'em  will  quit.  There's  no 
union  here,"  observed  Clem. 

"No,  there's  no  union;  San  Clemente  is  cut  off 
from  the  rest  of  the  world  about  as  much  as  if  we 
were  on  an  island.  But  that  very  isolation  makes 
folks  stick  together.  And  these  people  are  clannish. 
They'll  strike,  and  they'll  stick.  The  rest  will  be 
easy.  The  management  will  be  firm  but  stubborn. 
Why  not,  when  we  don't  want  'em  to  go  back  to 


PRIVATES  OF  INDUSTRY         249 

work?  Capital  lying  idle — overhead  piling  up — 
armed  guards  at  a  fancy  price — sump  filling  up  with 
water — assessments — and  down  comes  the  price  of 
Torpedo- Sundown  Con!" 

"Kind-a  tough  on  the  workin'  Johnnies,  what?" 
" Cousin  Jock?  Do  'em  good.  Take  'em  down  a 
peg.  They've  been  pretty  darned  independent  here 
lately.  They'll  all  be  more  tractable  for  us  when  we 
need  them.  And  they  won't  come  to  any  real  grief. 
All  these  cowmen  will  be  doing  the  Red-Cross  act — 
women  and  children  first.  I'm  glad  of  that,  too. 
.Mighty  insolent,  uppity  lot,  cowmen.  They've  al- 
ways had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  how  San  Clemente 
mines  was  run.  I'll  be  glad  to  see  that  big-mouth 
bunch  dig  down  in  their  jeans  to  play  our  game  for 
us." 

"We'll  have  to  make  a  bluff  at  getting  another 

crew  of  miners,"  said  the  young  man  thoughtfully. 

"Yep — Mexicans.    They'll  scare  the  Mexicans  off. 

That  will  set  the  Mexican  freighters  against  'em,  and 

the  courts,  and  the  Mexican  population  generally." 

"Race-feeling — -perpetratin'  dastardly  outrages 
on  life  and  property — that  sort  of  thing?" 

"Exactly.  Alienate  any  possible  sympathy  that 
might  be  coming  from  the  minority  stockholders  who 
live  here,  too,  if  we  can  only  stir  'em  up  to  a  little 
violence.  Once  we  get  a  foolish  gun-play  started,  the 
justice  of  their  original  demands  will  be  lost  in  the 
dust." 

"Ship  in  some  one  on  the  sly,"  said  Clem,  "keep 
him  in  funds,  make  it  his  job  to  keep  the  whisky 
going.  That  will  turn  the  trick.  John  Barleycorn  is 
what  turns  public  opinion." 


250  WEST  IS  WEST 

"You  said  it,  son.  Once  the  strikers  get  to  hellin' 
round,  old  J.  C.  will  be  red-hot  against  them.  He'll 
close  down  his  thinking  machine  till  the  miners  come 
to  his  terms — he'll  think  they're  his  terms,  he'll  not 
suspect  us;  and  so  he'll  not  throw  in  with  the  scat- 
terin'  Torpedo  stock  to  investigate.  That's  the  im- 
portant point — old  J.  C.  Armstrong  counts  for  more 
than  courts  or  cowmen.  Without  him  both  strikers 
and  stockholders  will  be  playin'  without  ace,  face 
or  trump." 

"You're  sure  the  assays  are  straight,  Uncle  Her- 
man?" 

"Sure.  No  'if  for  me.  I  trust  no  one.  I  went  in 
after  the  last  shots  on  the  six-hundred-foot  level  and 
picked  up  my  samples  before  the  muckers  came. 
Sent  one  to  Denver,  one  to  San  Francisco,  and  one 
to  the  State  School  of  Mines.  The  assays  checked — 
allowing  of  course,  for  a  slight  difference  in  the 
specimens.  Same  with  the  South  Tunnel,  which  is 
only  a  little  higher  than  the  Six  Hundred  Drift.  The 
borings  were  made  under  my  personal  supervision, 
and  Spencer  had  all  the  cores  mixed  in  the  ore-bins 
except  what  I  sent  away.  And  them  assays  tallied, 
too." 

"Then  we'll  make  a  killing.    When  do  we  begin?" 

"Right  now.  You  go  send  Spencer  up.  Don't 
come  back  yourself.  No  need  for  you  to  be  mixed 
up  in  it  openly.  You  never  can  tell — we  may  get  in 
trouble.  I'll  give  Spence  his  instructions.  These 
Welshmen  used  to  growl  at  Pete's  driving  them," 
said  Mendenhall  jovially.  "I'll  make  'em  think  my 
little  finger  is  thicker  than  old  Pete's  loins. 


CHAPTER 

HOW  DICK  CAME  TO  SAN  CLEMENTE 

By  the  converging  cattle  trails  Rainboldt  had 
known  for  an  hour  that  water  was  near  by.  He  came 
upon  the  ranch  suddenly,  deep-hidden  in  a  hill-shel- 
tered cove.  He  drew  rein  at  the  silent  house. 

A  window  swung  open  on  creaking  hinges.  Dust 
lay  lightly  on  the  side  of  it.  Dust  lay  thick  on  the 
floor  of  the  empty  room.  Rainboldt  rubbed  his  nose 
thoughtfully.  Wiseman,  his  claybank  horse,  brought 
bright  eyes  to  bear  upon  the  situation,  and  twitched 
an  ear  back  at  his  master.  They  passed  on  to  the 
corral. 

Cattle  sunned  themselves  in  the  corral,  comfort- 
ably asleep  on  the  warm  sand,  or  gathered  in  con- 
genial groups — Herefords,  line-backed,  white-faced, 
sleek  and  tame.  They  made  way  grudgingly.  Wide- 
eyed  calves  peered  fearfully  at  the  intruder.  Rain- 
boldt slipped  the  bridle  off  and  hung  it  on  the  saddle 
horn;  he  loosened  the  cinches;  he  slapped  the  clay- 
bank  's  neck. 

"Go  to  it,  you  li'l  oP  son-of-a-gun ! ' '  he  said. 
"Drink  hearty!" 

Wiseman  dipped  his  velvet  muzzle  daintily  into 
the  brimming  coolness  of  the  upper  trough.  There 
were  six  water  troughs,  wide  and  deep  and  long, 
ranged  stair-fashion  down  the  slope;  the  slender 


252  WEST  IS  WEST 

overflow  from  each  successive  trough  fell  to  the  next 
below  with  a  blurred  and  pleasant  bell  note ;  a  clink- 
ing of  fairy  anvils,  a  sound  of  mimic  echoes  slight 
and  silver,  blended  to  drowsy  music. 

Wiseman  sighed  blissfully  and  closed  his  eyes  for 
a  little  repose.  Bainboldt  opened  a  gate  into  the 
well  yard;  he  drank  from  the  clanking  pump;  he 
washed  his  face  and  hands.  The  windmill  creaked 
and  complained.  An  oil  can  hung  beside  the  pump. 
Eainboldt  climbed  the  tall  steel  tower  and  oiled  the 
gearing.  He  washed  his  hands  again  at  the  trough 
and  viewed  with  disfavor  certain  wind-blown  oil 
spots  on  his  corduroys.  He  punched  Wiseman  with 
his  thumb. 

"Hi!    Sail  on — sail  on — sail  on — sail  on!" 

Wiseman  eyed  him  with  mild  reproach,  but  thrust 
out  his  head  for  the  bit.  Eainboldt  swung  lightly  to 
the  saddle  and  rode  out  at  a  footpace,  southward 
through  the  glowing  sun. 

The  horse  was  slender  and  sleek  and  glossy-dun, 
broad  between  the  eyes,  deep-shouldered,  short- 
coupled;  his  legs  were  dainty,  flat-boned,  black- 
barred,  his  neck  arched.  A  brown  stripe  lay  along 
his  back  and  down  his  shoulders ;  f oretop  and  mane 
and  tail  were  long  and  heavy  and  black.  The  rider 
was  something  under  thirty,  slender  and  tall  and 
brown.  His  supple  body  swayed  with  easy  and  un- 
conscious mastery.  Every  move  of  the  man  was 
coordinated,  quick  and  sure;  he  bore  himself  joy- 
ously; youth  danced  in  his  eyes. 

But  the  face,  bold  and  pleasing,  was  yet  in  some 
way  oddly  older  than  his  body;  lightly  lined,  alert, 
holding  something  in  reserve  —  the  face  of  a  man 


HOW  DICK  CAME  HOME         253 

steeled  by  adversity.  A  mouth  fit  for  laughter,  cap- 
able and  generous,  was  schooled  to  quietness;  the 
keen  dark  eyes  had  a  trick  of  quiet  watchfulness. 

To  the  left,  far  below,  bare  and  white  and  blind- 
ing, the  overwhelming  desert  stretched  away  and 
away  to  a  line  of  dim  and  misty  hills.  Bainboldt 
knew  that  blistering  plain  to  be  almost  water  level. 
It  seemed  now,  as  he  looked  down  upon  it,  uptilted 
to  an  interminable  slope,  along  which  his  eye  toiled 
wearily — up,  up,  up,  till  those  far-off  misty  hills  on 
the  farther  verge  seemed  the  very  rooftree  of  the 
world. 

He  rode  sidelong  athwart  a  tremendous  and  hill- 
strewn  slope,  wide-flung  between  the  horns  of  a  cres- 
cent range,  following  an  old  road  across  an  endless 
succession  of  long,  straight  ridges,  with  shallow 
draws  between,  plunging  headlong  to  the  glaring 
levels  below. 

The  granite-born  soil — yellow,  tough,  compact  and 
firm — rang  under  the  shod  hoofs.  The  wide  road, 
untraveled  now,  had  once  been  traveled  greatly,  bit- 
ten deep  into  the  narrow  ridges;  always  it  edged 
upward,  elbowing  between  sharp,  bleak  hills. 

Behind,  the  northern  horn  of  mountain  was  square 
and  grim,  flat-topped,  breast  and  square  shoulders 
wrapped  with  the  deep  black  of  cedar  and  pinon,  the 
square  head  crowned  with  misty  pine.  To  the  right, 
beyond  and  above  the  knobbed  and  bouldered  foot- 
hills, swept  a  long  curve  of  wave-edged  ridge — 
smooth,  rounded,  granite  brown,  granite  yellow, 
granite  pink — bare,  save  for  glossy-green  dots  of 
mountain  laurel,  the  olive  gray  blotches  that  were 
clumps  of  scrub  oak. 


254  WEST  IS  WEST 

A  slender  and  symmetrical  cone  of  golden  granite, 
at  the  south,  soared  high  and  gleaming  above  that 
long  ridge,  and  ended  it;  beyond,  a  deep-cut  notch, 
sharp  and  very  narr.ow,  V-shaped,  opened  the  only 
window  to  the  west.  And  then 

The  farther  horn  of  that  great  crescent  swung 
away,  south  and  east,  a  titanic  and  crenelated  para- 
pet, shining  and  sheer,  fantastic,  glorious,  incredible. 
So  lately  that  the  knife- sharp  edges  were  yet  un- 
blunted,  central  fires  had  thrust  that  stupendous 
mass  through  the  torn  crust  of  earth,  all  at  once  and 
violently,  incandescent,  glowing,  cooling  to  spire  and 
spine,  needle  and  lance,  tower  and  dome ;  rose-edged, 
tawny  in  the  shadows,  golden  in  the  sun,  inky  black 
in  cleft  and  gorge. 

The  traveler  threaded  the  last  foothills  and  came 
out  to  the  upper  reaches,  below  the  mountain  proper. 
Wiseman  cocked  up  his  ears  and  whinnied  softly. 
Rainboldt  brought  his  eyes  back  from  the  southward 
crest,  followed  the  pricking  ears,  and  became  aware 
of  a  man  on  a  dust-colored  horse,  toiling  up  the  next 
ridge.  Rainboldt  crossed  over  and  came  there  to  a 
well-traveled  road.  He  curled  his  leg  over  his  saddle 
horn  and  waited.  The  newcomer  joined  him;  a  tall 
man  with  a  long  nose,  a  long  mustache  and  a  long, 
serious  face. 

"Howdy!"  said  Rainboldt.  "Do  you  live  far 
about  here  to  do  any  good!" 

"Seldom  ever,"  said  the  tall  man.  "How's  your 
health  this  evenin',  or  ain't  it?  I  never  saw  you  look 
better." 

' '  Got  the  makings  1 ' ' 

" Seguro!    Help  yourself." 


HOW  DICK  CAME  HOME         255 

Rainboldt  rolled  a  smoke  and  puffed  luxuriantly. 
Then  he  said: 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  but  could  you  tell  me  where  I'm 
going?" 

"Easy.    You're  going  to  supper  with  me." 

Rainboldt 's  face  was  wooden  and  his  eye  .was 
vacant. 

"Supper?"  he  said  slowly.  "Supper.  ...  I 
wonder  what  that  is  ?  What  is  that  ? ' ' 

The  tall  man  grinned  joyously. 

"I  got  you,  Steve !  You've  been  meanderin'  down 
the  east  side.  And  you  haven't  seen  anybody  or  any- 
thing to  eat. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  saw  a  man  some  time  last 
week.  And  I  been  shootin'  cottontails.  I  had 
matches,  and  found  some  salt,  one  place." 

"Come  along  with  me.  Emil  James  is  the  name. 
Glad  to  meet  you." 

"I'm  Dick  Rainboldt.  I'm  glad  to  be  met.  I'm 
glad  to  meet  anybody.  Say,  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
a  minute.  Over  here." 

He  rode  to  one  side;  he  glanced  anxiously  round 
at  the  towering  mountains  and  the  immensity  of 
desert ;  he  lowered  his  voice. 

"Explain!"  he  said,  in  a  sepulchral  whisper. 
'  *  What 's  happened  ?  I  can  bear  it.  Let  me  know  the 
worst.  Tell  me!" 

"  'Explain'?" 

"Everything."  Dick  waved  his  hand  grandly. 
"Why  haven't  I  seen  a  man  since  I  left  the  Mai  Pais, 
and  an  empty  ranch  house  every  so  often?  Why  did 
I  find  a  ghostly,  ghastly  mining  camp,  all  full  of 
rusted  engines  and  machinery,  with  the  windows  rat- 


256  WEST  IS  WEST 

tling  and  the  doors  squeaking;  stone  shacks  along 
the  hills,  with  flat  roofs  and  them  falling  in ;  a  million 
wagon  roads  all  crisscross,  with  grass  grown  up  in 
the  ruts ;  and  prospect  holes  with  rotten  timbers ;  a 
row  of  wagon  roads  all  side  by  each,  straight  down 
an  upandicular  mountain  where  no  wagon  could  pos- 
sibly get  up,  not  if  it  was  ever  so — everything.  Tell 
me.  I  never  felt  so  darned  ignorant  before,  not  in 
my  whole  life. ' ' 

Emil  James  laughed  indulgently. 

"It's  a  right  smart  step  to  supper,  brother.  Let's 
ride.  I'll  educate  you  as  we  go  along." 

"  First  of  all,  what  you  call  them  mountains  I" 
Dick  jerked  his  chin  to  southward. 

"La  Fantasia." 

"Dream  Mountains  was  my  guess.  Pretty  close 
guess,  what  ?  Some  hills ! ' ' 

"  'Some  hills'  is  right,"  said  Emil  James  lovingly. 
"I  guess  yes.  Let  me  introduce  San  Clemente  Gap- — 
and  the  big  fellow  all  alone,  no'th  of  the  Gap,  that's 
San  Clemente  Peak.  There  isn't  any  name,  rightly, 
for  the  rest  of  it  till  you  get  to  Old  Pinetop,  where 
all  your  steep  wagon  roads  was.  Wood  roads,  them 
was,  hauling  to  the  Sunol  mine,  where  the  windows 
rattled.  The  paisanos  would  creep  up  the  ridges 
mebbe  three  or  six  miles  to  the  west,  shin  up  a  low 
place  to  the  eavestrough,  worry  back  east  till  they 
came  opposite  the  Sunol,  chain  a  load  of  wood  on, 
lock  all  four  wheels,  say  a  prayer,  shut  their  eyes, 
and  slide  down.  Twelve  miles  up  and  one  mile  back." 

"I  savvy!  And  every  time  it  rained  the  old  road 
would  gully  out  so  bad  they'd  have  to  make  a  new 
one.  Yes  indeedy!  And  silver  went  down?" 


'  HOW  DICK  CAME  HOME          257 

1 '  And  silver  went  down.  It  did  so.  Tumultaneous 
with  that  the  camp  went  up.  Xo  flowers.  This  was 
once  as  lively  a  little  corner  as  you  might  wish  to 
see.  The  Sunol  might  mebbe  have  kept  on  producin' 
—  they  had  some  gold,  too  —  but  they  struck  heap 
water  and  blowed  the  roll  pumping  it." 

"And  now,"  prompted  Dick,  "about  the  hundred- : 
and-some-odd  miles  of  cattle  and  nary  a  man?" 

"Cattle  don't  drift  north.  They  can't  cross  the 
desert — too  far  enough  to  the  first  water,  and  none 
there.  'Way,  'way  south  there's  some  Texas  lads 
leased  land  and  fence  strung  nearly  part  way  across. 
So  our  stuff  can't  go  south  either.  The  main  range 
is  so  straight  up  and  down  that  the  birds  go  round — 
and  every  little  canon  is  fenced  in  the  narrowest 
place — so  the  cattle  can't  get  west.  Except  right 
here  at  San  Clemente  Pass.  Bern'  as  San  Clemente 
town — big  copper  camp — is  right  beyond  the  Pass, 
we  just  natchally  quit  our  ranches  and  come  up  here 
where  it  would  be  handy  to  play  poker  and  get  mar- 
ried, and  things  like  that." 

Eainboldt  rubbed  his  thumb  along  his  slender 
brown  mustache  and  rolled  a  preternaturally  wise 
eye  skyward. 

"No,  sir,  you're  mistaken.  The  boys  don't  steal 
cattle  any  more,"  said  Emil  pensively.  "I  don't 
know  why.  Just  isn't  fashionable  now.  I  was  strong; 
against  it  at  first,  but  after  all  maybe  it's  about  as 
good  a  way  as  any.  The  stock  can't  get  away;  they 
might  as  well  be  on  an  island.  So  we  work  'em  twice 
a  year,  and  each  fellow  only  gets  his  own.  You  don't 
get  rich  so  fast — but  then  you  don't  get  poor  so  fast, 
either. ' ' 


258  WEST  IS  WEST 

"We-e-ell,  it  might  work,"  conceded  Dick  doubt- 
fully. "And  so  you  all  live  in  San  Clemente?" 

"Not  so  as  you  could  notice  it.  Sometimes,  when 
we  get  hard  up,  we  slip  over  there  and  work  in  the 
mines  a  few  days.  But  there 's  a  strike  on  now.  No, 
sir;  we  live  over  on  this  side,  strung  along  right 
against  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  at  the  little  springs. 
Sheltered  from  the  big  southwest  winds  here,  you 
see.  That's  what  dries  up  the  grass,  them  winds; 
and  they  don't  strike  in  the  hills  and  canons  and 
parks,  up  under  the  main  mountain ;  hop  right  over. 
So  we  have  some  green  grass  all  the  year  round. 
That  keeps  our  saddle  horses  fat  and  contented,  so 
they  don't  wander  round.  We  have  it  pretty  soft; 
plenty  scrub  oak  for  wood,  nothing  much  to  do  but 
make  our  little  gardens,  and  maybe  ride  round  and 
grease  windmills  once  a  week." 

"Or  ten  days?"  suggested  Dick. 

' '  Or  ten  days.  Then  we  have  our  little  old  moun- 
tain to  look  at,  too.  That  helps."  His  eye  lingered 
along  those  happy  battlements.  "Sightliest  spot  in 
the  world,  I  guess,  and  all  the  better  for  that  out 
yonder."  He  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder, 
without  looking,,  to  indicate  the  blistering  desert. 
"The  hill  ain't  nigh  so  fine  from  San  Clemente. 
.They're  two  or  three  thousand  feet  farther  up  in  the 
air  than  we  are  on  this  side.  Nobody  minds  lopin' 
three  or  four  mile  to  town  after  a  match,  or  to  get 
the  mail;  but  we  wouldn't  exactly  live  there.  Cast 
your  eye  along  that  bunch  of  three-cornered  parks 
leaning  along  the  hill,  and  you'll  begin  to  see  where 
we  live,  about  one  ranch  to  each  park. ' ' 

"I  see  'em,"  said  Dick.    "You  don't  know  nobody 


HOW  DICK  CAME  HOME         259 

that  don't  want  to  hire  nobody  that  don't  want  to 
work,  do  you?" 

"Slim  chance.  There's  just  about  enough  of  us 
for  a  full  crew.  But  you're  mighty  welcome  to  hole 
up  with  me  till  the  wagon  starts  next  fall.  Maybe-so 
you  might  catch  on  somewheres,  here  or  on  the  West 
Side." 

"How  about  the  mines?  I  can  swing  a  sledge 
some." 

"Aw,  you  don't  want  to  do  that.  Cousin  Jock 
and  Taffy,  they're  striking  for  a  little  more  money — 
which  maybe  they  don't  deserve,  I  dunno — and  for 
a  lot  more  props  in  the  workings  which  they  certain-1 
double-e  ought  to  get.  We  want  the  strikers  to  win. 
Them  mines  ain't  even  half  safe.  Eotten  shame! 
The  owners  tried  to  work  Mexicans  a  while.  But 
even  a  Greaser  can  see  that  them  Welshmen  are  dead 
right  about  the  timbering  so  they  mostly  quit.  Not 
such  a  bad  lot,  the  paisanos." 

"Any  rough  stuff?" 

"We-ell,  no,  not  to  speak  of.  There  might  be  if 
the  sign  was  just  right.  I  hear  about  some  imported 
gunmen  maybe  a-comin' — a  bunch  of  strike  breakers 
they  used  in  the  coal  mines  at  Cerrillos  and  Gallup. 
If  they  come  to  San  Clemente — good-night,  nurse! 
These  red-headed  people  here  ain't  no  coal  miners." 

"How  about  broncos?"  asked  Rainboldt.  "Can't 
lay  up  with  you  a-tall  unless  I  can  earn  my  keep — » 
and  I'd  sure  like  to  stay  here  long  enough  to  take  a 
look  at  that  old  mountain.  I  can  break  bronc's." 

"You're  on." 

"Home  again!"  said  Dick.  "What  brand  do  you 
give?" 


260  WEST  IS  WEST 

11  Square  and  Compass.  Some  calls  it  the  X  Dia- 
mond X.  Real  malicious  people  call  it  the  Pig-Pen 
brand.  Come  round  on  this  side,  and  you'll  see  it 
on  my  horse's  thigh.  And  there's  my  shack  peeping 
up,  the  one  nighest  the  Pass." 

I  'Any  of  the  old  M  T  boys  settled  down  here, 
maybe  f" 

Emil  shook  his  head. 

' '  Shucks !  I  was  hoping  there  might  be.  I  been 
working  for  the  M  T  since  I  was  knee-high  to  a  hop- 
pergrass.  Good  outfit." 

" Wanted  to  get  out  and  see  the  world?" 

"No-o,  not  exactly.  You  see,  I  didn't  think  they 
done  me  just  right.  They  stopped  my  pay,  they  took 
my  mount  away  from  me,  and  they  barred  me  from 
the  chuck  wagon.  Then  I  got  mad  and  quit.  Yes, 
sir,  quit  'em  cold!" 

II  Don't  blame  you  one  bit!"  said  Emil  warmly. 

"  There  was  something  said  about  a  yearling,  I 
believe.  And  the  young  gentleman  that  said  it,  I 
never  had  liked  his  nose.  So  I  fixed  it.  He  was  the 
Old  Man's  nephew — is  yet.  Then  I  borrowed  his 
gun,  too,  a  little  later — five  or  ten  seconds,  say.  I 
think  maybe  that  had  something  to  do  with  the  Old 
Man  treating  me  the  way  he  did.  I  kind  of  hate  it, 
]  too, ' '  Dick  confessed  soberly.  * '  You  don 't  find  many 
like  the  Old  Man.  Sometimes  I  almost  wish  the  Old 
Man  had  been  an  only  child." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LAND  OF  AFTERNOON 

"BuT,  lovely  lady,  dear,  you  simply  mnst  make  a 
choice,"  expostulated  Pierre  Hines,  with  the  firm 
emphasis  of  one  who  voices  a  finality.  He  lay  on  his 
back  in  the  short  yellow  turf,  his  hands  clasped  be- 
hind his  head.  "The  girls  are  willing  you  should 
have  your  pick — stranger  within  the  gates,  hospit- 
able rites,  that  sort  of  thing — but  you're  overdoing 
it,  really.  They've  been  wonderfully  nice  to  you. 
Strangely  so,  I  thought  at  first.  But  calm  reflection 
shows  me  the  reason.  We're  such  a  fine  bunch  that 
any  one  of  us Judy,  you're  not  listening!" 

1 <  Oh-h ! ' '  breathed  Miss  Elliott.  She  sat  up  in  the 
hammock.  White  forms  flashed  swallow-swift  on  the 
court  below,  a  white  ball  shot  back  and  forth  across 
the  net.  The  girl's  dusky  face  sparkled,  her  eyes 
snapped  with  excitement,  as  she  followed  the  ball. 
The  rally  ended.  "Oh!"  she  said  again.  "Poor 
old  Billy!  He  tried  so  hard  for  that  point!  It's  a 
shame ! ' '  She  cuddled  back  in  her  cushions  and  re- 
trieved a  silken  ankle. 

"Fifteen-forty.  If  Alf  wins  this  it  will  be  game 
and  set,"  said  Dowlin,  unemotional,  massive  and 
blond,  camped  cross-legged  on  a  boulder  at  Miss 
Elliott's  feet.  "But  he  hasn't  won  it  yet.  Billy 
always  plays  his  best  when  he  has  to." 

261 


262  WEST  IS  WEST 

The  tennis  court  was  terraced  at  the  base  of  a  little 
natural  amphitheater.  The  hammock  swung  beneath 
two  chance  junipers  on  the  hillside ;  beyond  the  court 
flaunted  a  gay  marquee,  crowded  with  joy  and 
laughter.  Clustered  homes  of  * '  Chautaqua, "  the 
'*  North  Side,  the  San  Clemente  of  ease  and  of  leisure, 
I  peeped  from  subsidized  greenery  roundabout ;  busi- 
ness San  Clemente  huddled  along  the  narrow  canon 
below ;  working  San  Clemente  —  stone,  adobe  and 
box-house — straggled  on  the  southern  hillside,  where 
deep-cut  wagon  roads  twisted  and  turned  to  the 
widely  scattered  mines  on  the  long  slopes.  Far 
above,  the  golden  crest  of  Fantasia  Mountain  over- 
hung them  all. 

"Thirty-forty!"  Miss  Elliott  clutched  the  edges 
of  the  hammock  and  chanted  under  her  breath.  "  Go 
it,  Willyum !  Oh,  it's  a  fault !  Dear,  dear ! ' ' 

"Yes,  yes;  what  is  it?'*  said  Hines  soothingly. 

"Shut  up,  will  you?  Oh,  it's  a  beaut!  He  was 
expecting  a  slow  one  for  the  second  serve.  Back, 
Billy,  back!  Bun  up,  Billy!  Watch  out!  Oh,  dear! 
Oh!  A-h-h!  Deuce!" 

"Alf  will  hear  you,"  said  Dowlin  mildly.  "If  he 
does,  he  may  imagine  that  you  want  Billy  to  win. 
You're  not  allowed  to  talk  to  the  ball,  or  to  influence 
it  in  any  way.  Be  calm ! ' ' 

"You  can't  stop  her,  Ed.  She  always  unburdens 
her  mind.  It  is  that  precaution  which  inspired  the 
simple  villagers  to  call  her  'Little  Miss  Fixit'  before 
she  had  been  here  a  week. ' ' 

"They  call  you  'Pretty  Pierre'!"  retorted  Miss 
Fixit.  ' '  Hush !  I  want  to  watch. ' ' 

' '  Judith  Elliott ! ' '  said  Pierre  severely.    ' '  Pay  at- 


LAND  OF  AFTERNOON  263 

tention  to  me!     Leave  that  silly  game  alone,  will 
you?    I  am  urging  you,  aiding  you,  to  make  a  wise 
decision;  a  quick  one,  anyhow.    You  owe  it  to  us — 
to  me.    Those  nice  Danish  girls  at  the  Memphis  mine, 
now,  the  little  one  in  particular — Elsa,  the  one  with 
the  flaxy  hair  and  the  slate-colored  eyes  with  little  t 
gold  flecks  in  'em — say,  Ju,  that  child  is  a  wiz!    *If  v 
you're  really  going  to  turn  me  down,  make  it  a  quick 
one.    Little  Elsa " 

"  'Vantage,  by  heck!"  said  Dowlin.  "Old  Bill 
will  pull  it  off  yet!" 

"Did  you  say  specs?"  asked  Miss  Elliott  sweetly. 
"Eye-glasses?" 

"Flecks.  Not  specs.  Little  gold  flecks — little  gold 
devils — makin'  a  bally  fool  of  a  fellow." 

' '  Good  for  Bill !    He  made  it ! "  cried  Miss  Elliott. 

"One  set  each,"  said  Dowlin.  "Now  for  the 
rubber. ' ' 

"Ed,"  said  Hines  reproachfully,  "you  chatter  too 
much.  Be  quiet,  won't  you.  I  would  speak  winged 
words  to  this  scornful  lady. ' ' 

"If  you  ask  me,"  said  Judith,  "I  think  that  Wat- 
terson  boy  can  put  it  all  over  Billy  at  tennis.    I  only 
saw  him  play  once — the  terrible  day  that  poor  old 
Van  was  murdered.    But  he  played  like  a  fiend.    We  t 
must  try  him  out  when  he  gets  back  from  the  ranch." 

"Miss  Judith,"  said  Pierre  earnestly,  "leave  the 
boy  alone.  You  try  out  too  many  of  us.  Sometimes 
I  think  that  you  do  not  appreciate  your  privileges. 
Here  you  have  practically  all  the  Emerged  Tenth  on 
the  waiting  list ;  all  the  men  that  count,  or  that  have 
anything  much  to  count ;  the  Tired  Business  Man,  the 
Retired  Ditto,  the  Only  Son,  the  Flanneled  Fool,  and 


264  WEST  IS  WEST 

others  too  humorous  to  mention.  Also  Edward  DOTO- 
lin,  here  present,  otherwise  known  as  the  Abysmal 
Brute  or  the  Blond  Beast  .  .  .  and  me!  Choose, 
be-yutif ul  stranger,  choose !  Do  it  now !  ' ' 

"Flanneled  yourself !"  said  the  beautiful  stranger. 

11  'Flanneled'?  Me?  Madam,  I  would  have  you 
to  distinctly  wot " 

"To  deliberately  split  an  infinitive,"  said  Miss 
Elliott  coldly,  "is  to  wantonly  imperil  your  soul.  It 
is  almost  as  bad  as  to  profanely  swear." 

"Coises!"  Pierre  clutched  at  his  heart.  "Wo- 
man! False  and  fatal  beauty!  I  would  have  you 
know  that  I  am  always  fitly  appareled  to  suit  the 
occasion.  Correct  attire  is  my  one  hobby. ' ' 

"Like  the  farmer  with  one  besetting  hen?"  sug- 
gested Judith. 

"Cruel  and  unkind!  You  could  always  be  proud 
of  my  clothes,  at  least.  It  would  serve  you  right  if 
you  married  a  common  workingman !  But  no,  I  for- 
give you.  Forget  them  hasty  woids.  And  I  beseech 
you,  child,  never  make  that  mistake !  Shun,  oh  shun, 
the  man  who  works !  Work  is  a  sucker 's  game.  No 
one  ever  makes  any  money  until  he  has  abandoned 
that  disgusting  habit ! ' ' 

"Idiot!"  said  Judith,  dimpling  with  mirth. 

"Ah,  you  may  well  blush!  I  have  marked  you, 
madam.  I  have  seen  you  making  eyes  at  the  stage 
driver,  at  the  assayer,  even  at  the  blacksmith !  Men 
with  no  taste  in  dress  whatever!" 

"Blue  overalls  are  always  in  fashion,"  observed 
the  Abysmal  Brute. 

"Dowlin,  you  grow  more  garrulous  daily.  Check 
yourself.  I  have  warned  you  once  already.  And  you 


LAND  OF  AFTERNOON  26$ 

quite  miss  the  philosophy  of  dress.  The  white  collar 
— the  polished  shoes — the  spotless  gloves — what  are 
these  for  but  to  advertise  to  all  that  their  owner  is 
above  the  degrading  necessity  of  work?  "When,  ad- 
ded to  this,  one  follows  closely  every  detail  of  the 
changing  fashion,  it  proclaims  aloud  that  one 
is " 

1 '  Cut  out  the  swear  words,  Pierre, ' '  advised  Miss 
Judith,  twinkling.  "We  know  what  you  mean.  We 
agree  with  you." 

" person  of  refinement,  culchaw  and  intelli- 
gence. Like  myself.  Look  at  me!  My  enthusiasm 
prompts  me  to  sit  up.  Pardon  me ! " 

Pierre  sat  up,  his  Norman  hawk's  face  sparkling 
with  that  enthusiasm;  he  brushed  back  his  blond 
pompadour  with  slim  fingers.  "When  corded  vests 
are  the  thing,  my  vests  are  corded;  when  fashion 
says  detachable  cuffs,  undetachable  cuffs,  or  non- 
undetachable  cuffs,  I  am  in  line.  My  galluses " 

"Pierre  Hines!" 

"Well,  then! — The  roll  of  a  coat,  one  button,  two 
or  three ;  the  curve  or  width  of  a  hat-brim ;  the  peg- 
top,  the  straight- f ront ;  if  you  want  to  know  what's 
what,  watch  me.  Or  Alf." 

"Alf  is  barred  out,"  said  the  Abysmal  Brute 
mildly.  '  *  I  draw  the  line  somewhere.  Alf  is  hereby 
black-balled." 

"Good!  Now  we're  making  progress,"  gloated 
Pierre.  "Not  to  be  outdone  in  generosity,  I'll  elim- 
inate the  Only  Son.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Ed :  don't  you 
give  me  away,  and  I  won't  tell  on  you.  But  we'll 
both  give  absent  treatment  to  the  absent,  all  except 
Charming  Billy.  Then  I'll  draw  straws  with  you  to 


266  WEST  IS  WEST 

see  who  fights  it  out  with  Billy.  We  won't  leave  it 
with  Miss  Elliott,  of  course.  That  wouldn't  be  fair. 
Let  chance  decide  it.  Winner  to  catch  hands  with 
Billy,  dance  round  Miss  Judy — discreetly — and  sing : 

Oranges  and  lemons, 

The  Bells  of  Saint  Clemens! 

Then  she  can  guess.  Let  us  hope  she  doesn't  get  a 
lemon. ' ' 

Billy  won  a  glorious  victory;  and  Pierre  Hines 
walked  home  with  Miss  Elliott. 

"Judith,"  he  said  at  the  gate.  "I  want  to  tell 
you  something."  He  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  Spanish  fashion.  "You'll 
think  I'm  a  conceited  ass  —  at  first  —  but  I'm  not, 
really.  You'll  see,  when  you  think  it  over.  Not  in 
this  case,  anyhow.  But  I  do  think  you  ought  to  know 
what  it  was  that  I  didn't  want  Ed  to  give  away  on 
me." 

"What  is  it,  Pretty — murder?" 

"Worse  than  that,"  said  Hines  cheerfully. 
* '  Lungs.  My  father  had  'em.  So  now  you  know  why 
I  rattle  on  so.  Like  a  boy  whistlin'  in  the  dark." 

"Perry!    And  I  never  guessed." 

"You  wouldn't.  I've  been  out  here  four  years. 
Good  old  climate  has  patched  me  up  till  I  can  almost 
pass  for  a  man.  Sounds  like  whimperin',  doesn't  it? 
It's  not  so  bad  as  it  seems,  though — honestly  it  isn't. 
But  I  haven't  the  brains  for  head  work,  you  see,  or 
maybe  I've  only  got  too  much  money.  It's  only  fair 
that  I  should  envy Lord,  Judy,  there  isn't  a 


LAND  OF  AFTERNOON  267 

miner  or  a  freighter  that  I  don't  envy !  I  don't  count. 
There,  damn  it,  this  is  exactly  what  I  didn't  want  to 
say  or  sing  or  snivel,  not  on  a  bet.  Makin'  a  pitiful 
donkey  of  myself ! ' ' 

' '  You  're  not,  you  're  not !  Are  you  afraid,  Perry — 
in  the  dark?" 

Pretty  Pierre  threw  his  shoulders  back  and 
snapped  his  fingers. 

1 '  Not  that  much — not  a  scare !  You  remember  that 
wise  saying  of  Mark  Twain's:  'How  hard  it  is  that 
we  have  to  die — a  strange  complaint  to  come  from 
the  mouths  of  people  who  have  had  to  live. '  ' '  Then 
he  made  a  wry  face.  "I'll  be  honest  with  you,  kid. 
We  talk  a  heap  of  drivel,  Judy,  you  and  I,  especially 
you — but  I  know  you've  got  good  hard  sense  behind 
the  fluff,  and  you  won't  misunderstand. — Not  a  bit 
scared.  But  gee,  kid,  it's  lonesome — in  the  dark!  I 
gotta  keep  a-whistlinM" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

EARLY  HISTORY  OF  A  DOLLAB 

"DicK,  you  don't  have  to  keep  working  all  the 
time, ' '  said  Emil  James.  '  *  You  got  them  three  bron- 
cos pretty  well  gentled.  That  entitles  you  to  the  eats 
for  quite  some  time.  You  don't  manage  more'n  two 
or  three  pounds  of  steak  at  a  meal,  anyway.  Regu- 
lar canary  bird,  you  are.  What  say  we  play  Sunday 
for  a  while?" 

" Right  as  rain,"  said  Dick.  " Those  bronc's  are 
getting  drawed,  anyhow.  Couple  days'  rest  won't 
hurt  'em.  I'll  handle  'em  a  little  night  and  mornin', 
so  they  don't  forget.  They  sure  like  to  be  rubbed 
and  curried!" 

' '  I  'm  going  over  to  town.    Want  to  side  me  ? ' ' 

' '  Not  to-day.  I  '11  get  old  Wiseman  and  shoe  him, ' ' 
said  Dick.  "This  evening  I'm  going  up  in  the  high 
country.  It  looks  mighty  cool  and  pleasant  there, 
when  the  cliffs  begin  to  shade  this  side.  I've  been 
wanting  to  go  look,  but  not  bad  enough  to  ride  any 
wild  horses  up  there,  thank  you.  I'll  ride  a  bronc, 
over  to  town  to-morrow,  and  buy  myself  some  duds. ' ' 

"  You  're  surely  one  wolf  for  dollin'  up,"  observed 
Emil.  "  You've  been  washing  on  what  clothes  you've 
got  ever  since  you  came.  So  long!" 

Mid-afternoon  found  Dick  creeping  in  the  cool 
shadows  of  the  central  peaks.  He  rode  slowly;  he 

268 


EARLY  HISTORY  OF  A  DOLLAR  269 

walked  at  the  steep  pitches,  up  or  down;  he  made 
wary  choice  from  the  branching  trails  that  twisted 
along  the  boulder-strewn  hillside.  A  little  bunch  of 
deer  bounded  down  the  hill  and  disappeared.  Dick 
had  brought  no  gun  because  of  the  weight  in  the  hard 
climbing.  ''Besides,"  he  confided  to  Wiseman, 
* '  there  may  be  a  law  on  them,  or  something. ' ' 

Dick  looked  out  across  the  wide,  dim  plain,  now 
far  and  far  below;  his  eye  strained  upward  to  the 
slender  gleaming  pinnacles  at  whose  base  he  rode, 
and  the  greater  peaks  to  southward,  looming  now  to 
incredible  beauty  through  the  misty  shadows.  Bed 
blossoms  of  ocatillo  and  cacti  flamed  about  him,  and 
low,  earth-clinging  flowers,  whose  names  he  did  not 
know,  peeped  up  through  the  grass ;  a  bunch  of  wild 
phlox  was  knotted  at  his  saddle-horn.  For  the  horn- 
string  was  unused.  Dick  had  left  rope  behind  as 
well  as  gun,  for  the  same  weighty  reasons.  A  cloth- 
covered  canteen  hung  at  the  horn  in  the  rope's  place. 

The  way  bent  level  before  him;  the  reins  were 
loose  on  Wiseman's  neck;  Dick  raised  his  voice,  full- 
throated,  and  woke  the  startled  echoes : 

"Oh,  I'll  drink  and  I'll  gamble,  I'll  be  gay  again, 
I'll  ride  the  old  fork-lip  in  the  branding  pen; 
I'll  rope  'em  and  throw  'em,  and  when  they  are  tied 
I'll  stamp  a  big  J  B  L  on  the  left  side." 

His  next  attempt  bespoke  a  desultory  mind;  skip- 
ping lightly  across  half  a  world  and  half  a  thousand 
years  to  a  joyous  and  care-free  refrain,  high  and 
quavering,  from  an  alien  tongue : 


270  WEST  IS  WEST 

"How  many  pretty  girls  you  have, 

Girafla! — Girafle! 
How  many  gretty  girls  you  have — 
Love  ivill  take  count  of  them!" 

The  stern  mouth  curved  now  to  an  unwonted  smile, 
his  face  softened,  musing  on  the  sweet  girl-mother — 
long  and  long  ago — who  had  sung  that  old  song  so 
gayly. 

He  held  that  softened  and  better  mood  as  he  came 
to  a  wide  and  level  shoulder  of  hill.  He  took  off  the 
bridle  and  left  Wiseman  munching  the  tender 
grasses ;  he  looked  across  the  deep  blue  valley  inter- 
vening between  these  outlying  peaks  and  the  main 
range,  a  valley  which  culminated  in  a  high  and  steep 
pass  far  to  his  right.  He  threw  himself  on  the  velvet 
turf  and  looked  in  silence.  When  his  cigarette 
burned  out,  a  fragment  of  another  song — softly,  now 

— rose  unbidden  to  his  lips : 

- 

"There  are  the  good  and  blest, 
Those  I  love  most  and  best : 
There,  too,  I  soon  shall  rest " 


"Hi!"  said  a  startled  voice. 

Bainboldt  leaped  to  his  feet  and  swept  off  his  som- 
brero. Down  the  trail  beyond  him  a  young  lady 
stepped  briskly  from  between  two  mighty  boulders ; 
a  young  lady  in  riding  attire,  which  was  earth- 
stained  and  disheveled.  She  carried  a  slender  wire- 
wound  quirt  of  Mexican  weave. 

" Water,  you  were  about  to  say?  I'll  get  it  for 
you,"  said  Dick.  "It's  on  my  saddle.  And  youVe 


EARLY  HISTORY  OF  A  DOLLAR  271 

had  an  accident?    Not  hurt,  I  hope?"    He  held  out 
the  canteen,  first  unscrewing  the  top. 

" Thank  you.  No,  I'm  not  hurt  a  bit.  Except  my 
feelings.  They're  ruined.  If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll 
drink  first  and  tell  you  afterward.  Dear  me,  what 
a  very  jerky  conversation!" 

I  "That's  because  I'm  afraid — my  part  of  it,"  said 
Dick  gravely.  "Not  of  you,  you  know.  Of  girls." 
He  waved  his  hand  to  explain.  "Any  girls.  All 
girls.  I  suppose  you're  afraid  of  men.  Girls  are." 

"Not!"  supplemented  the  girl,  and  wrinkled  her 
nose  at  him.  Then:  "Oh,  my  soul!"  she  sighed. 
"What  would  poor,  dear  mamma  say  if  she  knew  I'd 
made  a  face  at  a  perfect  stranger?" 

"Me,  too,"  echoed  Dick,  mournfully  sympathetic. 
"I  never  behaved  this  way  before.  I  don't  know 
what  is  getting  to  be  the  matter  with  me — unless,  as 
Topsy  said,  it's  my  wicked  heart.  But  my  perfection 
was  not  shocked  when  you  made  the  face.  It  was 
very  effective.  Not  the  nose  so  much — the  dimples. ' ' 

"Upon  my  word!"  said  the  young  lady.    . 

1 '  Why  don 't  you  drink  ?    You  must  be  thirsty. ' ' 

"Look  the  other  way,  then.  I  haven't  learned  to 
drink  from  a  canteen  yet — not  gracefully. ' ' 

Dick  looked  the  other  way.  "Why,  drinking  from 
a  canteen  is  easy,"  he  said.  "The  first  rule  is,  you 
mustn't  laugh " 

The  girl  laughed  promptly,  with  disastrous  results. 
There  was  a  sound  of  spluttering  and  gurgling  and 
of  splashing  water.  ' '  There !  See  what  you  Ve  done ! 
You  made  me  choke  myself — you  made  me  spill  it!" 

"I  didn't  want  to  do  it,"  observed  Dick,  with  a 
decidedly  musical  effect.  » 


272  WEST  IS  WEST 

The  young  lady  shot  a  suspicious  glance  at  him, 
and  frowned  slightly;  but  the  young  man's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  a  distant  hill  with  a  gaze  so  innocent,  so 
guileless,  and  so  unswervingly  straightforward  that 
she  broke  out  into  dimples  again. 

' 'That  wasn't  a  song,  however  it  sounded,"  she 
remarked.  ''Now  you  keep  still  till  I  drink." 

A  brief  interval  followed. 

1 1  Now  you  may  look, ' '  said  the  young  lady.  , 

Dick  looked.  He  saw  a  slim  and  girlish  form,  a 
face  glowing  with  youth  and  laughter,  dark  hair  un- 
der the  upturned  sombrero. 

"I  said  look,  not  stare." 

"A  wise  man  has  stated  that  any  man  is  entitled — 
without  offense — t6  take  two  looks  at  any  lady,"  said 
Dick  firmly.  "The  first  look,  as  an  ordinary  pre- 
caution, to  avoid  the  possibility  of  collision;  the 
second,  of.  appreciation.  I  stand  on  my  rights." 

"Try  the  profile,"  advised  the  young  lady,  and 
immediately  made  herself  wooden,  with  outstretched 
fingers  and  awkward  arms. 

"Stop!  You're  turning  into  a  Dutch  doll!  Here, 
you  want  to  rest.  Wait  a  bit.  My  saddle  blanket  is 
clean.  I'll  get  it  for  you."  He  brought  the  blanket, 
a  thick  Navajo,  and  folded  it;  the  young  lady  sat 
down  obediently.  Dick  returned,  carrying  the  sad- 
dle. "Here  is  my  card,"  he  said  sedately,  and  laid 
his  finger  on  a  silver  oval  on  the  saddle  fork. 

"Eichard  Rainboldt."  The  girl  read  the  engraved 

name ;  she  rose  and  bobbed  a  curtsy.  "I  am  delighted 

to  meet  you,  Mr.  Rainboldt.    I  am  Judith  Elliott,  of 

San  Clemente." 

Dick  bowed  gravely.     "Miss  Elliott!"  he  mur- 


EARLY  HISTORY  OF  A  DOLLAR  273 

mured.  "So  pleased !"  As  the  girl  resumed  her 
seat  on  the  Navajo,  he  added: 

"But  San  Clemente  is  not  your  home?'* 

"Oh  no!  I've  only  been  there  a  month.  I  am 
visiting  my  cousins,  the  Armstrongs.  Do  you  know 
them?" 

Dick  shook  his  head.  "I  only  came  here  a  week 
ago,  and  I  haven't  been  over  to  San  Clemente  yet. 
You're  an  old-timer,  compared  with  me.  But  about 
your  accident?  I  suppose  your  horse  is  not  close  by, 
or  you  would  have  sent  me  after  him  at  once.  Is 
he  hurt?" 

i  i  He  fell  down  and  got  loose  and  ran  away.  t  Pride 
goeth  before  destruction  and  an  haughty  spirit  be- 
fore a  fall.'  They  warned  me  not  to  attempt  this 
trail.  I  came  through  that  little  gap  you  see  there." 
She  pointed  back  to  the  high  notch  in  the  southwest. 

"Some  trip  for  a  girl  to  make,  alone,  and  her  a 
newcomer,"  said  Rainboldt,  with  warm  admiration 
in  his  voice.  ' '  Haughty  spirit  is  right,  I  guess.  But 
they  shouldn't  have  let  you  come." 

Miss  Elliott  turned  her  unrepentant  head. 

"They  don't  know.  I  started  as  if  I  were  going 
on  the  other  side,  and  slipped  round  camp  quietly. 
I  was  visiting  at  Van  Patten's  camp,  you  know." 

"I  don't  know  anything,"  said  Dick.  "I'm  but  a 
stranger  here — as  I  was  just  observing  when  you 
arrived.  Heaven  is  my  home. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Elliott,  "Van  Patten's  is  a  sort 
of  a  summer  camp — more  like  a  club  house.  Beau- 
tiful place.  It  is  almost  at  the  top  of  the  gap  on 
the  other  side,  but  there's  a  wagon  road  blasted  out 
to  it.  I  knew  people  came  this  way  sometimes.  So 


274  .WEST  IS  WEST 

I  came.    I  was  over  all  the  worst,  too,  when  that 

horse,  that " 

-."Tormented??  suggested  Dick. 

"  Thank  you.  When  that  tormented  horse  stum- 
bled and  rolled  downhill.  Not  stumbled  and  rolled 
exactly — he  slipped  on  a  smooth  stretch  of  rock  and 
slid  downhill.  I  held  to  the  rein,  but  he  jerked  away 
and  ran — oh,  dear,  you  never  saw  anything  like  it!" 

"If  he  went  back  to  camp,  your  friends  will  be 
dreadfully  alarmed. " 

1 '  He  didn  't.  He  went  straight  down  the  mountain, 
clear  to  the  foot,  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  He  started  a 
big  boulder  to  rolling  as  he  got  up,  poor  dear !"  said 
Miss  Elliott,  relenting.  "I  suppose  that  scared  him 
and  made  him  run,  and  his  running  started  more 
boulders  and  little  rocks,  and  that  made  him  run 
faster,  and  so  he  started  more  rolling  stones,  and  so 
on  and  on  and  on.  'Twas  a  grand  spectacle.  But  oh 
and  ah!  ...  'How  different  from  the  home  life  of 
our  own  dear  queen!'  as  the  English  lady  said." 

"How  far  back  was  this!" 

Miss  Elliott  pointed.    ' '  About  two  miles,  I  guess. ' ' 

"But  why  didn't  you  go  back?" 

"I  had  started  to  come  this  way,"  said  Miss  El- 
liott rebelliously. 

Mr.  Rainboldt  gazed  at  her  with  marked  respect. 

"You  shall  do  that  little  thing,"  he  declared  se- 
riously. "You  can  take  old  Wiseman,  when  you're 
rested.  I'll  trot  alongside  to  fetch  him  back.  And 
your  horse  will  be  all  right.  He  '11  stop  with  a  bunch 
of  saddle  horses,  and  they'll  get  him  at  some  of  the 
ranches." 

1 '  Where  are  the  ranches  ? ' '  demanded  Miss  Elliott. 


EARLY  HISTORY  OF  A  DOLLAR  275 

"Why,  haven't  you  seen  them?  Look  right  at  the 
very  foot  of  the  main  hill — look  close.  You  can  see 
three  from  here.  Watch  for  the  bright  green — that's 
the  cottonwoods.  Then  you  can  see  the  houses  and 
corrals  close  beside." 

"Oh-h!"  said  Miss  Elliott,  and  her  eyes  widened. 
"Why-y!  The  trees  look  like  little  green  feathers, 
and  the  corrals — why,  they  look  like  little  work- 
baskets!" 

"They've  a  right  to  look  small.  I  reckon  they're 
a  good  half  mile  straight  down,  or  near  it." 

"This  is  the  life!"  said  Miss  Elliott  cheerfully. 
"But  I  haven't  thanked  you  for  your  kind  offer  to 
take  me  home — which  is  hereby  gratefully  accepted. 
Only  for  my  high  heels,  though,  I'd  go  on  foot,  in  the 
spirit  of  the  Dutch  miner  who  wasted  his  substance 
in  riotous  living  and  walked  home  in  the  dust  behind 
the  wagon — you  know  the  story,  perhaps?" 

"Yes.  He  made  use  of  an  expression.  He  said: 
'Walk,  you  expressioned  Dutchman — walk!  Walk — 
expression — walk!'  " 

Miss  Judith  nodded  vigorously.  "That's  the  way 
I  felt.  For  I  should  have  ridden  around  above  that 
bad  place.  It  was  absolutely  glassy.  I  knew  at  the 
time  that  I  was  taking  a  chance,  but  I  was  too  lazy 
to  make  the  detour.  But,  dear  me,  perhaps  I  am 
keeping  you  from  your  business — your  work?" 

"On  the  contrary,  dear  me,  I  have  not  a  single 
business  on  hand.  I  came  up  here  for  a  look-see — ? 
strictly  for  pleasure." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Rainboldt— and  I've  spoiled  it!" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it  in  that  light  exactly,"  said 
Mr.  Rainboldt. 


276  WEST  IS  WEST 

Miss  Elliott  rose  briskly.  "Well,  we'd  better  be 
going.  I'm  rested  now.  Your  boot  heels  are  not 
much  better  for  walking  than  mine  are.  Oh,  the  van- 
ity of  men ! ' ' 

"Right  about  the  vanity,  but  wrong  in  the  applica- 
tion," said  Dick,  saddling  up.  "Cowmen  need  boot 
heels  in  their  business.  I'll  tell  you  as  we  go  along." 

But  he  did  not  tell  her  about  boot  heels.  They 
traveled  single  file  along  the  rough  trail,  with  only 
a  word  of  caution  or  encouragement  flung  back  over 
Dick's  shoulder  for  all  conversation.  "When  they 
came  to  better  going,  as  they  neared  San  Clemente 
Pass,  Dick  fell  back  and  walked  beside  with  a  hand 
in  Wiseman's  mane.  The  lady  was  preoccupied;  a 
little  V-shaped  wrinkle  appeared  between  her  black 
brows. 

"There's  where  I'm  staying — with  Emil  James," 
said  Dick,  as  they  drew  even  with  the  Square  and 
Compass  ranch. 

"Yes,  I  know  Mr.  James,"  said  Judith  absently. 
The  young  man  was  quick  to  sense  some  unexplained 
change  from  their  former  sprightly  footing.  It  was 
the  girl  who  spoke  first. 

"You  won't  have  to  take  me  to  town,  Mr.  Rain- 
boldt,"  she  said.  "I've  just  remembered  that  the 
stage — the  buckboard  that  carries  the  mail,  I  mean — 
gets  to  San  Clemente  between  six  and  seven.  I  can 
wait  at  the  Gap  and  take  that.  Then  you  won't  have 
so  far  to  walk." 

"Why,  I'd  just  as  lief  take  you  all  the  way,  Miss 
Elliott." 

"It  will  not  be  necessary,  thank  you." 

Rainboldt  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


EARLY  HISTORY  OF  A  DOLLAR  277 

"You're  the  doctor.    We  won't  have  to  wait  long. 
I've  seen  the  mail  outfit  coming  for  half  an  hour." 
"Where?" 
Dick  pointed. 

* '  See  it  ?    Crawling  along  up  the  third  little  ridge  ? 
No — here,  coming  from  the  southeast." 
"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 
"I  was  hoping  you  wouldn't  think  of  it,"  said 
Dick  truthfully. 

The  young  lady  made  no  response  to  this  little 
remark.  Her  face  glowed  like  a  ruby  in  the  sun. 
When  the  blush  died  away  she  knitted  her  brows 
again,  as  in  some  perplexity;  seeing  which,  Dick 
strode  on  ahead,  swinging  swiftly  down  the  last  easy 
slope. 

Their  trail  came  out  in  the  highest  point  in  San 
Clemente  Gap,  barely  wide  enough,  here,  for  the 
wagon  road.  Judith  dismounted  and  patted  Wise- 
man's friendly  nose. 

"Tired?"  said  Dick  sympathetically. 
"Oh,  no!    You  must  be,  though,"  said  the  girl. 
But  she  seemed  ill  at  ease. 

"How  are  the  strikers  coming  on?"  asked  Dick, 
in  a  perfunctory  attempt  to  make  conversation. 
"Will  they  win  out,  do  you  think?" 

"Oh,  dear  me,  I  don't  know,"  said  Judith  irri- 
tably. "Mr.  Spencer  is  going  to  have  men  from  the 
outside.  Some  of  them  have  come  already,  and  we're 
afraid  there'll  be  trouble.  I  don't  know  the  rights 
of  it.  I'm  prejudiced,  I  guess.  My  father  owns 
stock  in  the  mine,  and  so  does  Uncle  Jim.  He  owns 
a  lot.  Uncle  Jim  is  J.  C.  Armstrong,  you  know. ' ' 
"No,  I  don't  know  any  one  on  the  west  side." 


278  WEST  IS  WEST 

"The  stage  is  nearly  here,"  said  Judith. 

"Oh,  it  will  be  ten  minutes  yet.  They  have  to  stop 
and  rest  coming  up  this  steep  hill. ' ' 

* '  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Rainboldt.  You  have 
been  very  kind. ' '  She  held  out  her  hand. 

In  speechless  wrath  and  astonishment  Rainboldt 
saw  that  she  was  offering  him  a  silver  dollar.  He 
bent  his  head  with  an  exaggerated  air  of  humility 
and  gratitude.  "Oh,  thank  you!"  he  said  sweetly. 
He  took  the  coin  and  flung  it  away  with  a  quick  jerk 
of  the  wrist,  as  though  it  had  been  white-hot.  It 
flashed  in  the  sunlight;  it  sailed  above  the  ocatillo 
bushes  and  fell  in  a  bushy-topped  cedar  far  below. 
"Good-day!" 

"Oh!"  said  Judith  faintly. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  bowed  low,  swung  into  the  sad- 
dle and  whirled  down  the  hill  at  a  brisk  trot,  bolt 
upright,  his  hat  tip-tilted.  The  stage  toiled  up  the 
slope. 

'  *  Oh,  Mr.  Rainboldt !  Come  back !  Oh,  I  'm  sorry ! 
I  didn't  know!"  Judith  was  fairly  running  after 
him  at  the  last  words ;  her  voice  rose  as  she  ran.  Too 
late  she  realized  the  full  enormity  of  her  offense. 
She  stopped  with  one  hand  on  her  breast  and  called 
imploringly  to  Rainboldt 's  implacable  back: 

"Come  back!    Please,  Mr.  Rainboldt!" 

Rainboldt  rode  on. 

A  vagrant  tear  splashed  down  her  flushed  cheek. 
She  turned  her  small  face  toward  San  Clemente  and 
set  out  resolutely;  she  clicked  her  small  teeth  to- 
gether. 

' '  Walk,  damn  you,  walk ! ' '  said  Judith. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

TINTED    NEWS 

MB.  ALFRED  SPENCER,  manager  of  the  Torpedo 
mine,  sat  in  his  room  and  perused  a  bulky  letter 
which  had  reached  him  by  the  last  mail.  He  read  it 
attentively,  looking  up  from  time  to  time.  His  teeth, 
in  the  lamplight,  were  bared  in  that  false  and  sin- 
ister smile  which  went  so  far  to  make  him  unbeloved. 

The  letter  was  interesting  as  to  matter;  the  date- 
mark  was  El  Paso,  the  writer  was  that  Parker  who 
had  been  rechristened  as  "Snipes"  by  Mr.  Crook- 
nose  Evans,  and  the  letter  recounted  at  length  the 
recent  exploits  of  Mr.  Evans  in  El  Paso.  The  story 
will  look  over  Mr.  Spencer's  shoulder  at  the  last 
paragraphs : 

"Well,  all  at  once,  the  Crooknose  guy  escapes 
from  the  hospital.  Supposed  to  be  hardly  able  to  get 
about.  Police  offer  five  hundred  reward,  but  to  my 
notion  they  don't  want  him.  Bought  off,  maybe. 
Anyhow,  there's  some  damn  hocuspocus  about  it. 
This  cop,  Gannon,  he  had  a  crush  on  Crooknose,  be- 
ing in  the  big  fight  with  him  and  all.  But  Travesy, 
he  wants  him  and  he  wants  him  bad.  He's  on  the 
peck,  bigger  than  a  wolf.  And  he  offers  two  thou- 
sand for  him,  cold  cash.  Nice  piece  of  money,  what  ? 

"Well,  sir,  I  believe  you  and  me  can  get  it.    I 

279 


28o  WEST  IS  WEST 

haven't  let  on,  but  I  kept  my  ears  open.  The  girl's 
father  come  down  and  took  her  home ;  and  it  seems 
he  is  from  your  burg — name  of  Quinn — little  sawed- 
off  Irish  red-head.  There  was  a  young  fellow  with 
him — uppity  chap  named  Murray — looked  like  a 
half-breed  and  acted  like  he  was  a  king  or  some-/ 
thing — sassy  as  hell.  And  there  was  another  guy,  a! 
regular  high-roller — bad  man,  I  guess — that  had 
been  down  here  hitting  the  high  places  for  some  time 
before  ever  the  Crooknose  guy  blowed  in.  And  look 
you,  he  was  one  of  your  people,  too — Steve  Thomp- 
son. You  must  surely  know  him;  every  one  in  this 
damn  town  knows  him,  and  they  all  shine  up  to  him 
like  he  was  the  gate-keeper  in  heaven,  and  they  waa 
tryin'  to  work  him  for  a  rain-check. — Well,  sir,  them 
two,  Murray  and  Thompson — they  disappeared  the 
same  time  that  Mr.  Smart  Alec  Crooknose  did.  Got 
that?  They  didn't  go  by  rail,  I'm  sure  of  that.  My 
notion  is  that  they  went  to  your  corner,  cross- 
country. 

"I  bet  you  can  locate  him.  If  you  can,  tell  me  and 
I'll  tell  Travesy.  We'll  split  50-50.  No,  I  won't 
double-cross  you.  No,  you  won't  double-cross  me. 
Damn  you,  you  dassent — I  can  hang  you,  and  you 
jolly  well  know  it. 

Let  me  hear  from  you  P.  D.  Q. ' ' 
Yours  for  the  stuff, 

WM.  PARKER. 

As  Mr.  Alfred  Spencer  considered  his  reply,  that 
ominous  smile  of  his  grew  positively  alarming.  He 
was  not  in  the  confidence  of  San  Clemente,  as  a  usual 
thing ;  but  even  the  baser  sort  of  San  Clemente  had 


TINTED  NEWS  281 

thought  of  this  affair  of  little  Katie  Quinn's  as  a 
thing  apart  from  all  ordinary  rules  and  cautions; 
had  been  loose-tongued  accordingly.  Therefore,  a 
fairly  accurate  version  of  Katie's  peril  and  rescue 
had  drifted  to  Spencer's  ears. — There  Had  been  also 
a  rumor  of  a  covered  spring  wagon,  creeping  by  slow 
stages  up  the  inland  valleys  beyond  the  Black  Range. 
That  slow  journey  had  ended  at  Fuentes  town,  and 
those  leisurely  wayfarers  had  been  three  —  Billy 
Murray,  Steve  Thompson  and  a  stranger  who  gave 
his  name  as  Lute  Evans,  or  Luther  Evans — a  stran- 
ger with  a  crooked  nose — a  stranger  very  pale  and 
feeble,  as  if  he  had  been  ill — or  wounded  perhaps. 
Mr.  Spencer  revolved  these  things  in  his  mind.  His 
lips  parted  in  a  crafty  and  cruel  smile;  he  pulled 
paper  to  him  and  began  to  write. 

"Well,  J.  C.,  you  came  at  last,"  said  Mendenhall 
heartily.  "This  is  the  third  day  I've  met  the  stage 
for  you.  Armstrong,  you  and  I  haven't  always  got 
along  beautifully,  but  this  is  one  time  I'm  glad  to 
see  you.  This  strike  is  getting  my  goat.  I  'm  afraid 
we  are  going  to  have  trouble.  Can't  you  come  up  to 
the  office  and  make  medicine?  I'm  uneasy  in  my 
mind.  You  can  'phone  your  missus,  and  I'll  have 
supper  sent  over  from  the  hotel." 

"All  right,  Herman,"  said  J.  C.,  burly,  square- 
jawed,  bushy-browed.  "What's  it  all  about,  any- 
how?" 

' '  Nothing,  except  what  I  wrote  you — holding  us  up 
for  more  money.  They're  stubborn,  or  I  am,  or  both. 
I  really  should  have  written  before,  I  guess.  I  was 
hoping  to  get  it  settled  without  bothering  you." 


282  WEST  IS  WEST 

1  'What  about  insufficient  timbering?    I  hear  the 
men  made  a  grievance  of  that,  too." 

Mendenhall  brushed  the  query  aside. 

"Yes,  they  were  right  about  that.  We  ran  short 
and  put  in  some  pretty  weak  sticks  in  the  stopes 
above  the  four-hundred-foot  drift.  I  wanted  to  get 
the  ore  out  to  fill  our  contract,  and  'twas  safe  enough 
for  a  few  days.  The  new  men  are  doing  the  job  over 
now — part  of  'em.  I  put  the  rest  to  driving  the  adit 
we  started  to  drain  the  sump.  Spencer  and  I  talked 
it  over  and  decided  not  to  run  a  night  shift  yet.  If 
any  of  the  old  men  have  a  mind  for  violence,  a  night 
shift  would  give  them  their  chance.  They  can't  well 
do  dirty  work  in  daytime  in  full  sight  of  town.  It's 
too  expensive  to  keep  the  pumps  going  without  a  full 
1  crew  on  the  job,  so  we  thought  we'd  best  rush  the 
adit  before  the  mine  flooded.  Don't  go  so  fast,  J.  C. ; 
you're  forgetting  my  game  leg." 

"Did  they  misuse  the  Mexicans  you  hired?" 

"Why,  no,  I  don't  believe  they  did,"  said  Menden- 
hall with  eager  generosity.  "Mostly  hard  words,  I 
guess ;  maybe  a  little  hustling — nothing  to  hurt.  But 
they  used  mighty  rough  talk  to  Spencer,  too.  That 
made  it  hard  for  me.  I  can't  very  well  go  back  on 
my  superintendent.  If  they  had  come  to  me  first, 
J.  0.,  I  might  have  given  them  the  extra  half-dollar 
temporarily,  till  the  directors  could  meet  and  decide 
what  to  do.  I  wanted  to  keep  the  mine  running.  But 
I  couldn't  go  over  Spencer's  head,  could  I  now?" 

"No,"  said  Armstrong,  frowning.  "Think  the 
labor  unions  didn't  send  a  man  here  to  stir  up  the 
trouble?" 

"I  hardly  believe  so.    They  just  took  a  fancy  for 


TINTED  NEWS  283 

four  dollars  per  No  mine  has  ever  paid  that  in  San 
Clemente.  I  don't  know  why  they  picked  on  us. 
Gosh,  I'd  hate  to  knuckle  down  to  'em,  though  of 
course  the  directors  may  decide  to  do  it.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  've  had  the  old  push  with  us  from  the 
first — and  I  liked  the  old  boys,  J.  C. " 

"That  they've  been  with  us  from  the  first  is  ex-, 
actly  what  makes  this  crack  mighty  nearly  unforgiv- 
able," said  J.  C.  "If  they  wanted  an  advance,  they 
should  have  asked  for  it  like  men,  and  kept  on  to 
work  till  we  had  time  to  think  it  over,  at  least. ' ' 

"Shucks,  J.  C.,  you  musn't  expect  too  much  of  men 
like  that,  just  ignorant  old  mossbacks.  Their  tongues 
are  rough,  but  they're  not  badhearted.  You  must 
expect  that  sort  to  go  off  half-cocked  once  in  a  while. 
Like  as  not  half  of  'em  are  sorry  now  and  would  be 
glad  to  be  on  the  job  again." 

"They'll  get  the  chance,"  said  the  other  grimly, 
"if  they  go  to  work  at  the  old  scale.  Then  if  they 
have  any  proposition  to  make  we'll  consider  it — and 
not  till  then." 

"That's  the  way  I  hoped  you'd  see  it.  For  if  the 
directors  give  in,  Spencer  will  have  to  go — me,  too, 
probably.  I  hope  they  don't  hold  out  so  long  that 
we  can't  get  together.  People  say  —  I  don't  know 
how  true  it  is — that  the  miners  at  the  Memphis  and 
the  Bennett-Stephenson  are  giving  up  part  of  their 
wages  to  carry  the  strikers  over.  And  the  cowmen 
are  eggin'  'em  on." 

"They'll  give  in  or  stay  out  for  keeps.  No  man 
can  tell  me  how  to  run  my  business,"  said  Arm- 
strong. 

Mendenhall,  lagging  behind  on  the  steep  trail,  per- 


284  WEST  IS  WEST 

mitted  a  malicious  gleam  of  amusement  to  flicker  in 
his  eyes. 

"  You  're  walking  me  off  my  feet  with  this  pesky 
limp  of  mine,"  he  said.  "Slow  up,  and  cool  off.  I 
was  pretty  hot  myself,  at  first.  Beckon  I'm  getting 
patient  in  my  old  age,  for  I'm  trying  to  see  both 
sides.  There's  another  thing,  J.  C. ;  serious,  too. 
This  new  outfit  I  shipped  in  from  outside  looks  like 
they  might  be  ugly  customers.  They're  rubbin' 
it  over  on  the  old  hands  something  scandalous. 
Spencer  tries  to  hold  'em  down;  but  they  drink  a 
good  deal.  Strike  or  no  strike,  I'd  hate  to  see  any 
of  the  old  gang  get  in  bad  or  get  hurt.  Only  for  that 
I  would  have  had  in  a  full  crew  before  now.  But 
this  new  bunch  are  bad  hombres.  Old  strike-break- 
ers, you  know.  They  look  tough  to  me.  Their  ring- 
leader, in  particular,  Clay  Connor,  he's  a  regular 
wolf.  More  than  one  of  'em  are  gunmen,  I  judge. 
And  they  don't  break  rock  for  shucks,  and  they're 
insubordinate,  and  they're  costing  us  like  hell — to 
say  nothing  of  the  risk  of  bloodshed." 

"If  there's  any  bloodshed  or  destruction  of  prop- 
erty, the  old  crowd  is  out  for  keeps — if  the  mine  goes 
bust  on  it, ' '  said  Armstrong. 

' '  Easy  all,  J.  C. !  If  the  newcomers  start  it,  you 
wouldn't  bar  out  the  old  boys?  A  man's  got  a  right 
to  defend  himself,  I  suppose,  even  if  he  is  a  striker." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so  —  if  we  knew  who  started  it. 
Nobody  ever  started  a  shooting  scrape,  to  hear  them 
tell  it." 

"That's  right,  too.  How  does  this  hit  you,  J.  C.? 
Let's  rush  that  drain  right  through  so  the  mine  don't 
flood — all  of  us  sittin'  on  the  lid — and  then  ship  out 


TINTED  NEWS  28$ 

the  newcomers  and  shut  down  the  mine  till  the  strik- 
ers come  to  our  terms,  hey?" 

" That's  the  caper.    Freeze-out." 

Freeze-out  it  is.  We  can  rush  that  adit  through 
to  the  water  in  another  week.  Then  we'll  all  be 
hunky,  if  the  strikers  don't  get  to  hittin'  up  the 
booze.  I'll  say  this  for  them,  J.  C. ;  they're  well  led 
or  well  advised.  They've  held  in  and  stood  for  a 
good  deal  of  insultin'  talk  these  last  few  days.  Hope 
they  can  keep  it  up.  Say,  J.  C.,  if  they  were  to  blow 
up  the  pumps  on  us  before  we  got  our  drain  finished, 
it  would  put  a  crimp  in  us  for  fair,  wouldn't  it?  Well, 
here  we  are.  You  go  in  the  office.  I've  got  a  bottle 
of  fine  old  Scotch  in  my  room.  I'll  get  that.  Then 
we'll  'phone  for  supper  and  discuss  ways  and 
means. ' ' 

As  Mendenhall  went  to  his  room,  Clem  Gray  came 
out  of  the  assayer's  office  and  joined  him. 

"What  does  he  say,  Uncle  Herman?"  he  whis- 
pered. 

"Got  him!"  said  Mendenhall  blithely.  "Swal- 
lowed it,  hook,  bob  and  sinker !  Pompous  old  ass ! ' ' 

Six  men  filed  into  Armstrong's  gate  next  day — 
Corwen,  Pendravis,  Price,  Owens,  Murtha  and  Wig- 
fall.  Armstrong  came  out  to  meet  them.  He  held 
up  a  forbidding  hand. 

' '  If  you  are  here  as  individuals,  as  my  old  friends 
and  neighbors — come  in  I  If  you  come  as  any  kind 
of  delegation  or  committee  from  your  ungrateful 
union,  go  back  the  way  you  came ! ' '  His  bushy  brows 
were  knotted  to  bristling  tufts,  his  square,  smooth, 
face  was  red  with  anger. 


286  .WEST  IS  WEST 

The  miners  came  to  a  halt,  jostling  together  awk- 
wardly. Old  Sam  Wigfall  stepped  forward  a  pace. 

"Happen  we  moight  have  a  word  with  'ee,  friendly 
loike, ' '  he  said.  '  *  We  want  nowt  beyond  reason. ' ' 

"Go  back  to  your  work.  Then  if  you  have  any 
complaint  to  make,  I'll  listen." 

' '  But  they  timbers,  J.  C. !  Look  for  thysen — wast 
moiner  or  e'er  tha'  wast  maister." 

'  *  Go  back  to  work ! ' '  boomed  Armstrong.  "  I'll  not 
hear  a  word ! ' ' 

Old  Wigfall  advanced  another  step.  His  eyc^ 
blazed  wrath. 

"Maister  or  no,  shalt  not  roar  me  doon!  Give 
ower  thy  bull-bellowing!  Art  but  a  man  for  all — 
and  no  man  can  daunt  me  wi'  black  looks!  Hear 
me  now ! ' ' 

"Do  you  threaten  me?" 

"Yaas,  bai  Gawd!"  bawled  the  old  miner. 

They  faced  each  other,  glaring  and  quivering. 
Then  old  Sam  brought  his  voice  down  with  an  effort. 
"Taper  off  a  bit,  J.  C.,  and  oi  will  do  the  same. 
Angry  words  are  half  meant.  Happen  tha'  didna 
mean  the  full  of  thy  own  words,  beloike.  Coom! 
We'll  make'ee  an  offer.  Do'ee  pick  three  moiners — 
the  managers,  if  tha'  loike — from  the  Merlin,  the 
Modoc  and  the  Memphis.  If  nobbut  one  of  three  say 
that  Gallery  Foar  or  Gallery  Two  the  Foar  Hunnerd 
Drift  be  saife  —  they're  the  worst  —  why,  we'll  go 
back  to  wor-rk.  Speak  up,  men,  wilt  stand  by  my 
offer?" 

*  *  That 's  roight, ' '  growled  Pendravis.  *  *  Us  '11  bide 
bai  that  wor-rd,  one  and  all." 

"De'ee  goa  thysen,  J.  C.,"  urged  Blacky  Corwen. 


TINTED  NEWS  287 

"Thou'rt  better  moiner  nor  any  of  they  manager 
men  on  t'  hill." 

"No  man  shall  tell  me  how  to  run  my  business," 
said  J.  C.  doggedly.  ' '  Go  back  to  your  work.  When 
you  do  that,  I  may  hear  what  you  have  to  say — not 
till  then.  That's  my  last  word  to  you!" 

"Do  'ee  hear  this  wor-rud  then!"  Old  "Wigfall 
went  through  the  motion  of  washing  his  hands;  he 
shook  invisible  drops  from  his  fingers.  "We  havena 
lot  or  part  in  'ee!  If  tha'  sends  flesh  and  blood  again 
to  yonder  man-trap,  art  no  better  nor  a  murderer — 
and  a  murderer  for  siller !  Go  thy  ways  to  hell  I ' ' 


I 
CHAPTER  XXVII 

MEN  OF  HAELECH 

IT  is  well  known  that  the  best  tunes  are  in  the  dev- 
il's service.  The  devil  is  well  served  in  other  ways. 
Saloons,  now;  all  that  has  been  sung  or  said  in  dis- 
praise of  saloons  is  here  fervently  indorsed.  Yet 
notice  how  effectively  the  deputy  plays  upon  the  pas- 
sionate preference  for  the  undecorative  which  marks 
the  uncultured  male.  There  is  room  and  sea  way, 
walls  and  floor  are  uncluttered  by  frippery,  shrub- 
bery, curlicues,  lace  and  gossamer,  mystery,  conceal- 
ment and  junk. 

John's  room — John's  ideal  room,  the  den  of  his 
dreams — is  high  and  sunny  and  bare.  One  door  and 
much  light,  one  table  and  two  chairs,  real  fireplace 
and  real  wood,  ash  tray  and  waste-basket,  an  un- 
fringed  rug  of  solid  warm  color — everything  may 
be  seen  at  a  glance.  On  the  wall  are  maps  of  far 
places,  Arabia  and  the  East  Indies,  a  shelf  for  the 
Six  Best  Books.  No  drawn  work,  no  diaphaniety, 
no  cushions,  nothing  too  fine  for  use,  nothing  to  live 
up  to,  no  formulas  for  compliance  withal.  An  ideal 
only;  with  the  best  motives,  John's  womankind  ten- 
derly persist  in  making  him  comfortable.  So  John 
goes  hence  to  rest  his  poor  head  from  the  overwhelm- 
ingness  of  personal  property ;  far  from  the  madden- 
ing formula,  to  where  he  may  be  unf eignedly  John- 

-     288 


MEN  OF  HARLECH  289 

some,  and  not  a  poor  imitation  of  James,  living 
according  to  the  conscience  of  his  own  dictator. 

The  above  is  in  no  sense  a  criticism;  merely  dis- 
passionate comment.  We  all  and  necessarily  accept 
woman  as  she  is.  She  always  was. 

The  business  place  of  Trevennick  &  Nagel,  in  San 
Clemente,  is  fashioned  in  deference  to  John's  views, 
high,  wide  and  handsome.  Here  no  John  is  required 
to  be  Jimsome,  or  contrariwise.  Thus  freed  from  the 
strain  and  vigilance  of  ceaseless  effort  to  be  some- 
one else,  the  John  mind  relaxes;  a  lively  sense  of 
well-being,  ease  and  pleasant  cheer  suffuses  his  rosy 
limbs. 

Nagel,  too — the  Noisy  Partner,  as  distinguished 
from  Joe  Trevennick,  the  Silent  Partner — Nagel  was 
a  distinct  influence.  Nagel  had  only  a  part  of  a  piece 
of  one  lung,  and  each  hour's  life  was  an  independent 
miracle.  Authority  had  given  him  six  weeks  at  best 
— four  years  earlier.  Having  put  by  the  hopes  of 
this  world,  Nagel  fronted  the  ills  of  life  with  a  sim- 
ple and  light-hearted  cheerfulness  which  was  at  once 
impressive,  instructive  and  infectious.  For  very 
shame's  sake  we  abandoned  our  petty,  silly  woe  and 
grievance;  the  intolerable  injury  became  a  light 
matter. 

Yes,  Albert  used  you  shabbily,  no  doubt.  But  per- 
haps he  had  his  reasons.  Come  to  think  of  it,  didn't 
you  treat  Tommy  quite  as  badly,  long  ago?  Partly 
because  you  were  a  silly  ass,  that  was;  partly  for 
the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance.  Yet  Tommy  has  for- 
given you.  Plainly,  you  must  give  Albert  a  good 
licking,  or  take  one,  and  thereafter  harbor  no  malice. 
Maybe  Albert  was  also  in  the  clutch  of  circumstance  f 


29o  WEST  IS  WEST 

This  Nagel — dead  and  dust  long  ago — is  not  for- 
gettable, with  his  big  eyes  and  the  crooked  smile 
under  his  incredibly  long  mustaches,  his  frail,  thin 
hands,  his  cheerful  croak  and  his  invincible  courage. 

Business  was  thriving.  The  thick  blurr  of  Cornish 
speech  was  in  the  air,  the  softer  slurrings  of  Welsh. 
It  was  Saturday  night,  it  was  pay  day  at  the  Merlin 
and  the  Modoc;  the  big  wages  were  all  to  spend. 
There  was  a  fair  attendance  from  the  other  mines. 
The  Torpedoes  were  present'  in  force,  surly  and 
silent. 

The  strike-breakers  attended  in  a  body.  Sixteen 
of  them,  big  men  all,  they  made  a  group  apart,  under 
the  leadership  of  their  smallest,  bright-eyed  Clay 
Connor.  They  drank  deep  and  laughed  loud ;  drink- 
ing only  among  themselves,  perforce,  except  when 
Bates,  a  rat-faced  stranger  from  the  hotel,  thumped 
the  bar  and  called  up  all  hands. 

There  were  some  half-dozen  cowmen,  including 
Emil  James  and  Rainboldt.  Dick  was  in  no  amiable 
mood,  this  being  the  day  following  his  little  trip  to 
the  high  country.  The  north  side  of  town  was  rep- 
resented by  "Charming  Billy"  Armstrong,  quiet  Ed 
Dowlin  and  Hines,  who  sat  on  a  window  ledge,  ob- 
servant; and  the  gathering  was  completed  by  a 
sprinkling  of  prospectors  headed  by  old  Pat  Breen, 
^a  wizened  and  smiling  little  man  with  a  record. 

The  Silent  Partner  worked  double  tides,  ambidex- 
trous to  the  needs  of  business,  yet  with  a  corner  of 
an  eye  for  Sam  Barkeep.  San  Clemente  was  far 
afield;  there,  at  least,  cash  registration  had  not  yet 
cast  an  upas  blight  upon  youthful  enterprise.  Nagel 
plucked  a  merry  strain  from  a  guitar.  Then  his  eye 


MEN  OF  HARLECH  291 

singled  out  young  Benjy  Oram,   of  the  Mormon. 
"Up,  Benjy!"  called  Nagel.    "  'Atta  boy!" 
He  threw  his  head  up,  he  straightened  himself  in 
his  chair,  he  swept  the  strings  to  a  high  and  throb- 
bing call.    Young  Benjy  crossed  to  Nagel 's  chair ;  his 
strong  young  voice  fell  in  with  the  crashing  chords, 
thrilled  and  swelled  to  the  strong  barbaric  cadences ; 
The  March  of  the  Men  of  Harlech : 

"Ni  chaiff  gelyn  ladd  ac  ymlid, 
Harlech!    Harlech!    cwyd  iw  herlid; 
T  mae  Rhoddwr  mawr  ein  Rhyddid, 
Yu  rhoi  nerth  i  ni; " 

\ 

Billy  Armstrong  was  speaking  with  compassion 
of  the  Noisy  Partner,  when  a  voice  split  through  the 
roaring  mirth  in  front.  It  was  not  loud,  but  it  made 
its  way,  tense  and  hateful.  The  mirth  died  down. 
Men  stepped  aside  to  the  bar,  the  wall,  leaving  a 
clear  lane  through  the  place  of  business. 

Two  men  stood  out  alone  —  Clay  Connor,  slight, 
panther-graceful,  smiling,  a  beautiful  devil,  and 
young  Benjy,  the  singer. 

"Cut  out  that  infernal  caterwauling  and  clapper- 
clawing, I  say.  That's  no  tongue  for  a  white  man 
to  hear." 

"  'Tis  a  fine  old  ancient  tongue,"  said  sturdy 
Benjy.  "And  a  noble  song.  Too  good  for  the  likes 
of  you." 

"I  hear  you  say  so." 

"I  am  here  to  make  it  good,"  said  Benjy.  "Take 
off  your  coat  and  have  it  explained.  I'm  no  gun- 
man. ' ' 


292  WEST  IS  WEST 

\ 

"And  I'm  no  boy,"  said  Connor,  laughing  lightly. 
"Not  good  enough,  kid — I  don't  fight  fist-fights.  A 
boy's  game.  You  lick  me  to-day  and  I  lick  you  to- 
morrow. Nothing  settled.  But  I  say  again  that  your 
disemvoweled  Taffy-talk  song  sounds  like  a  pack  of 
fire-crackers.  And  I'll  back  my  words  at  any  game 
where  a  man  stays  put." 

Nagel  strummed  softly  on  the  guitar,  his  chair 
tilted  on  two  legs.  Connor  kept  the  tail  of  his  eye 
on  "Doc"  Hughes,  booted  and  spurred,  half  cow- 
man, half  miner,  as  the  one  most  likely  to  take  up  the 
challenge.  But  it  was  Rainboldt  who  answered.  His 
back  was  to  the  bar,  his  weight  resting  on  both  el- 
bows, thrust  behind  him  wingwise ;  one  foot  was  on 
the  floor,  the  boot  heel  of  the  other  caught  on  the 
brass  foot-rail — a  picture  of  careless  comfort.  As 
he  spoke  he  shifted  his  position  ever  so  slightly  so 
that  his  weight  fell  on  the  left  elbow,  leaving  the 
right  still  touching  the  bar-top,  but  free. 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Connor,"  said  Dick  evenly,  "I 
quite  agree  with  your  views  on  fist-fighting.  And 
I  like  your  face.  Any  time  you  want  to  borrow 
trouble,  your  credit's  good  with  me.  As  a  linguist, 
however,  your  sentiments  distress  me." 

"Good  night,  nurse!"  said  Emil  James,  and 
pushed  himself  forward  to  the  open,  his  eyes  upon 
Connor's  adherents,  now  crowding  to  the  fore. 

"I  love  Welsh,"  said  Dick.  "I  may  be  said  to 
dote  upon  Welsh.  Welsh  is  a  language  of  singular 
beauty.  It  appeals  to  all  that  is  highest  and  best  in 
my  nature.  Tall  talk  will  never  turn  me  from  it. 
Go  on  with  your  song,  kid.  I'll  see  to  it  that  no  one 
interrupts  you." 


MEN  OF  HARLECH  293 

Nagel 's  speech  overlapped  the  last  words.  He 
plucked  a  wandering  air  from  his  guitar ;  a  Spanish 
folk  song  with  a  recurring  poignant  phrase,  a  rising 
phrase,  ever  keener  and  more  tense. 

' 'Consider  my  case,  now,  you  two  gentlemen,  be- 
fore you  go  into  the  matter  further/'  said  Nagel. 
There  was  that  in  his  quiet  voice  for  which  they  lis- 
tened, Clay  Connor  crouching  tiger-wise,  Rainboldt 
leaning  idly  against  the  bar ;  listened  each  with  eyes 
only  for  the  other. 

"Life  isn't  as  good  fun  as  when  I  was  a  boy,"  said 
Nagel  pleasantly.  "Sometimes  I'm  almost  weary  of 
dying  on  the  installment  plan.  You  want  to  bear 
that  in  mind.  So  I'm  asking  you  gentlemen  not  to 
start  any  shooting  to-night,  please.  It  mars  the  fur- 
niture ;  it's  bad  for  business ;  and  it  annoys  me.  I've 
got  a  sawed-off  shotgun  under  the  corner  of  the  bar, 
nine  buckshot  to  a  load,  two  barrels,  one  barrel  for 
each  of  you  and  no  favorites  played.  If  I  get  mine, 
why,  that's  so  much  clear  gain.  Only  neither  of  you 
fellows  want  the  name  of  snuffing  out  a  wreck  like 
me.  'Twould  look  ugly.  Still,  suit  yourselves. ' ' 

The  guitar  tinkled  away,  about  moons  and  a 
dreamy  wind  now,  violets,  and  the  like  of  that.  Some 
one  sighed  in  the  crowd  by  the  wall.  Eainboldt 's 
blue  eyes  broke  to  a  frosty  twinkle. 

"That  will  be  enough  for  all  practical  purposes," 
he  remarked  thoughtfully.  "Thank  you,  I  don't  wish 
any  of  the  pie."  He  turned  to  the  bar.  "Drinks  on 
the  house,  you!"  he  announced. 

"Sure!"  said  Trevennick.  "Line  up,  gentlemen 
— name  your  poison." 

It  was  a  long  sigh  this  time  that  went  up  from  the 


294  VWEST  IS  WEST 

roomful.  Amid  a  general  shuffling  of  feet  and  chair- 
legs,  Connor  held  up  his  hand. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  all  to  know  that 
this  stranger-man  said  exactly  what  I  wanted  to  say, 
only  I  didn't  have  the  nerve  to  say  it — me  being  a 
newcomer  and  not  much  known  here.  It  was  clever 
of  him  and  I  am  thankful  for  that  same.  Not  to  be 
wholly  outdone  in  generosity,  I  will  now  take  water. 
I  hereby  admit,  avow,  and  proclaim  that  Welsh  is 
the  finest  tongue  the  world  knows — barrin'  only  the 
Irish,  which  is  own  cousin  to  it — and  for  the  music 
mayhap  it  is  even  better  than  the  Irish." 

He  turned  to  Dick  curiously. 

'  *  You  have  my  name,  sir.  Will  you  give  me  yours  ? 
Rainboldt?"  He  held  out  his  hand.  "I'm  proud 
to  know  you,  ye  devil !  But  you're  not  Welsh — never 
a  hair  of  you. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Rainboldt  gravely.  "I'm  American, 
and  I  never  breathed  with  soul  so  dead.  But  when 
I'm  in  Borne  I  like  to  ramble." 

"You  go  too  strong  for  me  —  you  and  friend 
music,"  said  Connor  frankly.  "Come  on,  lads,  we'll 
hear  the  rest  of  that  song — and  a  rare  fine  one  it  is ! " 
he  laughed.  "And  there  will  be  no  more  tall  talk 
this  night — not  from  me. ' ' 

"Yuh  damn  hobgoblin!"  said  Emil  James,  when 
he  and  Dick  had  reached  home.  "You  near  started 
a  riot." 

"When  I  was  a  boy,"  explained  Dick,  "I  had  a 
pup  that  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  Llewellyn's 
hound  in  the  Fifth  Reader.  So  I  couldn't  stand  for 
no  such  break  as  that. ' ' 


MEN  OF  HARLECH  295 

"Them  Torpedoes  and  Modocs  is  suhtainly  keep- 
in'  their  heads,"  mused  Emil.  "That's  the  old 
hands  holdin'  the  young  devils  back,  or  there 'd  sure 
be  war.  That  Connor  gang  is  sure  obstreperous. 
Takin'  mighty  big  chances,  they  are.  I  wouldn't 
have  made  that  crack  Connor  did,  not  on  a  bet." 

"Nor  for  wages?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean,"  said  Dick,  "that  this  whole  play  these 
strike  breakers  make  is  too  raw  to  be  natural.  If 
they  are  not  pulling  this  rough  stuff  per  instructions, 
I  miss  my  guess." 

"But— why?" 

"That,"  said  Dick,  "is  what  I  am  going  to  study 
on,  after  I  put  out  the  light.  Notice  that  man  Bates 
who  was  settin'  'em  up  to  the  house  so  wild  and 
fierce?" 

' « The  hatchet-faced  one  ?    Yes ! " 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "he  didn't  loosen  up  till  the 
Torpedoes  came.  Then  he  limbered  up  and  got  in 
action  like  he  was  afraid  of  dying  disgraced.  But 
after  Connor  and  me  had  our  exchange  of  views  the 
Torpedoes  went  home.  Bates  hung  round,  but  he 
didn't  buy — not  after  the  Torpedoes  went — not  once. 
Notice  that?" 

' '  Humph ! ' '  said  Emil  James.  He  looked  down  his 
nose.  "So  he  did!" 

He  blew  out  the  light.  Dick,  wrestling  with  his 
problem,  dropped  off  to  'a  troubled  sleep:  and 
dreamed  of  a  girl  that  glowed  like  a  ruby  in  the  sun. 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAINT  CLEMENS 
CHAPTER  XXVIII 

LITTLE  BLACK  TOODLES 

"You  may  say  what  you  like,"  said  Billy  firmly, 
"but  I'll  never  marry  a  girl  that  won't  speak  to  me. 
No,  sir!  I'd  as  soon  marry  you — or  Judith.  Don't 
say  'Hilda'  to  me!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  us?"  demanded  Violet 
Armstrong  tartly,  from  the  porch  steps. 

"While  I  am  no  hardened  moralist,"  said  Pierre, 
in  a  shocked  voice,  "both  of  you,  you  know — really, 
Vi 'let !  It 's — it 's  unusual ! ' '  Pierre  lay  on  the  grass 
with  clasped  hands  behind  his  head  and  his  eyes 
dreamed  along  the  crest  of  La  Fantasia. 

"Oh,  bother!  Why  shouldn't  you  marry  one  of 
us,  William?" 

"Cousins,"  said  Billy  briefly. 

' '  Nonsense !    I  'm  not  your  cousin, ' '  said  Judith. 

"Vi  is  my  cousin  and  you're  Vi's  cousin.  Same 
thing,"  said  Billy  heartlessly.  "Sorry,  and  all  that. 
But  you  see  how  it  is." 

"Billy  Armstrong,  you're  horrid!"  declared  Vio- 
let. l  f  Of  all  the  stuck-up  smarties !  Charming  Billy ! 
William  the  Conqueror !  Yah ! ' ' 

"Hell  hath  no  fury  like  a  woman  —  quotation 
marks,"  said  Pierre.  "You've  hurt  their  feelings, 
Billy." 

296 


LITTLE  BLACK  TOODLES         297 

"Vain  Miss  Violet!"  mocked  Billy,  and  lifted  his 
voice  in  song : 

"Vain  Miss  Violet,  there  she  goes. 
All  dressed  up  in  her  Sunday  clothes!" 

"That's  a  pretty  little  thing,  Armstrong.  Why 
don't  you  have  it  set  to  music?" 

"That's  right,  Mr.  Dowlin.  You  stick  up  for  us," 
purred  Violet.  * '  You  're  not  my  cousin,  are  you  ? ' ' 

"I'll  consider  your  case,  Ju,"  said  Billy  dream- 
ily, ' ' I  might  do  worse,  I  suppose.  You're  not  so  bad 
looking,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know.  And  I  don't  have  to  depend  alto- 
gether on  my  looks,  either.  There  is  always  the 
Elliott  Plow  Works.  It  is  one  of  my  greatest  charms. 

"What  care  I  how  black  I  be, 
Forty  pounds  shall  marry  me! 
If  forty  won't,  then  fifty  shall, 
For  I'm  my  daddy's  bouncin'  gal!" 

"I'll  tell  you  who'd  be  a  good  match  for  Judy," 
said  Billy  contemplatively.  "The  only  man  I  know 
who  might — possibly — manage  her  when  she  goes  on 
these  little  tantrums,  is  that  chap  that  called  the 
plug-uglies  last  night." 

"What  was  that,  Billy?"  asked  Vi.  "No  trouble 
with  the  miners,  I  hope?" 

"Nerviest  thing  I  ever  saw — and  the  silliest,"  said 
Pierre.  "Heroic  defense  of  Welsh  by  a  student  of 
language  and  literature — man  that  never  saw  a  har- 
poon. Disinterested  devotion,  I  call  it.  Should  be 


298  WEST  IS  WEST 

reported  to  Andrew  Carnegie,  the  great  medaler." 

"But  what's  the  story?    We're  all  in  the  dark." 

"Billy '11  tell  you.  He  talked  to  the  Champion  of 
Cymry  all  the  rest  of  the  evenin'.  Thicker 'n  Damon 
and  Charybdis,  they  were. ' ' 

So  Billy  told  the  story,  interrupted  by  many 
"Oh's!"  and  "Ah's!"  "What  was  the  chap's  name, 
Hines?"  he  finished. 

"I've  forgotten." 

' '  Rainboldt, ' '  said  Ed  Dowlin.  * '  Dick  Bainboldt. ' ' 

"Gee!"  said  Judith.  Her  eyes  grew  big  and 
round;  her  face  burned. 

"Another!"  groaned  Billy,  in  great  disgust. 
"Lordy,  look  at  her  blushin'!" 

"  Where 'd  you  meet  him,  Ju?"  demanded  Violet. 

"Oh,  I'm  such  a  fool — such  an  unfortunate  little 
fool!" 

"Sounds  interesting"  said  Hines.  "Make  good, 
sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever.  Tell  it  to  us. ' ' 

"The  day  my  horse  got  away,  I — I  met  him  on 
the  trail  and  we  came — Oh,  I  can 't !  I  'm  ashamed ! '  * 
said  Judith,  through  her  fingers. 

"I  see,"  said  Pierre. 

"  '0  stay,'  the  maiden  said,  'and  rest 
Thy  weary  head  upon  this  breast!' 
Suspicion  filmed  that  stranger's  eye, 
And  to  the  maid  he  made  reply, 
'Excelsior?'  " 

"Beast!  Pierre  Hines,  you're  just  horrid,  so 
there!  I  won't  tell  you — I  won't!  It  was  awful — - 
worse  than  anything  I've  ever  done." 


LITTLE  BLACK  TOODLES         299 

1  'It  must  have  been  awful,"  said  Miss  Violet. 
"Now,  you've  got  to  tell  us." 

' '  I— I ' '  began  Judith  wretchedly.    « « I ' ' 

"Yes,  you,  you,  certainly.  Go  on!"  encouraged 
Billy.  "Spare  us  the  preliminaries.  We've  been 
through  them — eh,  Dowlin  f" 

"She  makes  dimples,"  said  Dowlin  dismally. 
' '  She  looks  down — up  at  the  hills — and  sideways,  to 
get  the  range,  and  then  she  gives  you  a  broadside 
all  at  once.  It's  fierce!  Tell  us,  Judith;  you  might 
as  well.  Just  give  us  the  outlines.  We  can  fill  them 
in." 

Judith  buried  her  burning  face  in  her  arms ;  half 
sobbing,  half  laughing,  she  blurted  out  the  shameful 
story  of  Dick  Eainboldt  and  the  tip. 

"Gabriel's  trump,  and  it  doubled!"  said  Pierre. 

"Bather!"  said  Dowlin,  and  whistled  in  his  teeth. 

Billy  groaned. 

"I  told  you  all  the  time  how  it  would  be,"  he  said 
in  a  weary  and  discouraged  voice.  "The  cow  has 
eaten  the  grindstone  at  last ! ' ' 

There  was  a  heavy  silence.  Judith  peeped  out 
timidly  from  her  shelter.  Miss  Armstrong  stared  at 
her  in  unassumed  horror.  Billy  supported  his  chin 
with  both  hands,  with  hopeless,  unseeing  eyes  upon 
the  far  peaks  of  Fantasia  Mountain.  Pierre  clung 
blindly  to  the  corner  post  of  the  piazza,  wrestling 
with  some  great  emotion.  She  turned  to  Ed  Dowlin, 
to  find  his  honest  blue  eyes  filled  with  a  pity  so  ob- 
viously sincere  that  she  abandoned  half -measures 
and  wept  openly. 

"You    inhuman   idiot!"    said   Miss    Armstrong. 

"Howl,  you  miserable  creature,  howl!  Serves  you 
right!"  observed  Billy. 


300  WEST  IS  WEST 

Judith  wailed  afresh. 

1  *  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!  I'm  so  ashamed!  I — I  never 
knew  any  working  men.  I  didn't  kno-ow!" 

"  Rot!  "said  Billy  brutally.  "  Come  off  that  stuff ! 
Your  dad  was  a  working  man — is  yet.  If  he  could 
have  had  his  way  you'd  have  been  brought  up  as  an 
American  girl.  Aunt  Jo  always  tried  to  be  snobby. 
Snivel  now,  do !  You've  jolly  well  got  a  good  right 
to.  Go  to  it!" 

"Come,  Miss  Elliott,  it  isn't  so  bad  as  all  that," 
said  Dowlin.  "You  can  make  it  right  with  him,  you 
know.  Cheer  up!" 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  Judith  put  out  a  hand  to 
him.  "I'll  apologize,  of  course,  if  that  will  do  any 
good." 

"Apologize?  You  want  to  crawl!"  said  Violet. 
"You  want  to  grovel!" 

"I  am  submerged  in  gloom,  black  as  the  night 
which  covered  Mr.  Henley  from  pole  to  pole,"  said 
Pierre.  He  rolled  over  with  his  face  in  the  grass  and 
gave  himself  up  to  unseemly  mirth. 

"Pierre  Hines!"  Judith  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
flashing  eyes.  "If  you  dare  laugh  at  me  while  I'm 
in  such  trouble,  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again!  I'm 
going  to  grovel !  I  know  where  Mr.  Eainboldt  lives — 
just  over  the  divide,  at  the  James  ranch.  I'll  go  now. 
I'll  bring  him  back  with  me.  Billy,  you  saddle  Nib- 
bles for  me  while  I  change. ' ' 

"I  say,  don't  wash  off  the  tearstains,  Ju.  That'll 
fetch  him.  You  look  rippin' !"  said  Billy. 

"Imbecile!"  said  Judith,  and  disappeared. 

"I  haven't  laughed  so  much  since  Uncle  Jim 
died,"  declared  Pierre. 


LITTLE  BLACK  TOODLES         301 

"Well,  she  got  hers!  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like 
of  that  caper?"  demanded  Miss  Violet  inelegantly. 
"We  certainly  punished  that  young  lady  for  fair. 
All  her  mother's  fault,  too.  Hope  we  didn't  rumple 
her  precious  feelings  too  much.  I'll  run  upstairs 
and  smooth  her  down  a  little  before  she  goes. ' ' 

"Women,"  said  Billy  in  great  disgust,  "are  all 
alike.  Vi  has  gone  to  help  Judith  get  her  war  paint 
on.  Poor  Eainboldt!" 

Judith  flashed  through  the  gate  a  little  later,  wav-  • 
ing  a  gay  farewell  to  Violet  and  the  three  young  men. 
Sabbath  chimes  tossed  mellow  from  the  towers  of 
San  Clemente  church  as  she  clattered  up  the  stony 
road. 

"The  Bells  of  Saint  Clemens!"  said  Pierre 
soberly.  "You  'member  what  I  said  at  the  tennis 
match,  Dowlin?  She's  makin'  her  choice  right  now — 
little  Judy! 

'Que  t'as  de  belles  files, 
L' Amour  les  comptera!' 

"I'm  a  seventh  son  of  a  calamity  howler,  and  I 
want  to  put  my  prophecy  on  record — little  Judy  is  a 
goner ! '  ' 

Charming  Billy  watched  until  Judith  was  a  speck 
in  the  distance.  He  put  out  one  hand  to  Dowlin  and 
one  to  Violet. 

"She  isn't  my  cousin,"  he  said,  in  a  wretched  little 
whimper.  "I  want  my  little  black  Toodles!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

FORGIVE 

MB.  DICK  RAHSTBOLDT,  being  minded  to  teach  to  the 
Stargazer  bronco  the  beginnings  of  his  duty,  found 
a  bunch  of  cattle  upon  a  stony  hillside,  with  an  un- 
branded  calf  of  their  number,  a  " short  yearling," 
appertaining  to  Emil  James.  He  hustled  the  bunch 
down  to  a  sandy  draw,  where  no  harm  might  befall 
calf  or  horse ;  and  there  he  closed  in  with  a  whirling 
loop,  scattering  the  bellowing  tailenders.  The  calf 
was  swift,  but  studious  Stargazer  was  swifter ;  there 
was  a  skillful  cast  of  the  loop,  and  the  long-ear 
pitched  and  bawled  at  the  rope's  end.  At  his  end  of 
the  rope  Stargazer  did  a  few  spectacular  bounds  on 
his  own  account;  but  Rainboldt  soothed  him  with 
voice  and  hand,  and  mysteriously  contrived  to  avoid 
entanglement  in  the  rope. 

The  bunch  swept  on.  The  yearling  came  to  a  mo- 
mentary halt.  Dick  touched  Stargazer  with  the  spur, 
and,  as  horse  darted  forward,  he  twitched  the  slack 
so  that  the  yearling  crossed  it.  At  the  same  time  he 
reined  Stargazer  to  his  haunches;  the  long-ear  exe- 
cuted a  creditable  somersault.  Dick  jumped  off,  he 
knotted  the  bridle  rein  deftly  to  the  rope ;  he  raced 
swiftly  to  the  calf,  tugging  at  the  tie-string  round 
his  waist  as  he  ran. 

The  yearling  rose  before  Dick  was  halfway  down 

302 


FORGIVE  303 

the  rope;  he  gave  a  heart-chilling  battle  cry,  and 
made  straight  for  his  persecutor.  Dick  leaped  aside. 
Stargazer  tried  to  run.  Horse  and  long-ear  crossed 
the  rope  in  opposite  directions  and  both  were  thrown 
to  the  ground.  As  the  yearling  fell,  the  cowboy 
pounced  upon  him,  gathered  the  frenzy-beating  feet 
together  with  a  swoop  of  legs  and  arms,  made  a  few 
quick  passes  and  rose.  The  captive  was  hog-tied. 
Dick  threw  off  the  choking  neck-rope. 

Stargazer  scrambled  to  his  feet,  terrified;  he  de- 
cided to  go  away,  but  the  bridle  reins  were  tied  fast 
and  Dick  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  rope,  with  his 
heels  plowing  in  the  sand.  Stargazer  came  to  a  halt, 
snorting;  calling  softly  as  he  drew  near,  Dick  came 
up  the  rope,  coiling  it  as  he  came.  He  untied  the 
reins,  patted  Stargazer 's  quivering  muzzle,  and  put 
foot  to  stirrup. 

It  was  time.  The  long-ear,  madly  threshing  his 
head,  bawled  frantic  terror  and  indignation.  Down 
the  draw,  at  this  piteous  outcry,  a  furious  cow  reap- 
peared, prompted  by  maternal  affection.  She  was 
too  near  for  comfort.  Stargazer  whirled,  plunging. 
Eainboldt  slid  into  the  saddle;  he  whirled  his  rope 
and  shouted.  The  cow  charged  in  a  fine  frenzy,  head 
down,  tail  up,  vociferous.  Eainboldt  strove  vainly 
to  turn  her  with  shout  and  onsweep.  Her  blood  was 
up ;  she  held  the  right  of  way.  Slipping  aside,  Dick 
fell  in  behind  her  and  drew  up  close  beside.  The 
circling  rope  poised  rhythmically,  it  swooped  down 
over  her  shoulders  in  exact  time  with  her  plunging 
feet,  whirling  over,  forward  and  downward,  as  it 
came;  the  uplifted  hand  drew  the  noose  tight,  the 
pony  swerved;  "forefooted,"  the  luckless  avenger 


3o4  WEST  IS  WEST 

turned  in  air  and  lit  on  her  side  with  a  resounding 
thump.  Stargazer,  swinging  awkwardly,  was  near 
to  following  her  example,  but  managed  to  keep  his 
feet  The  cow  rose  pluckily,  gasping  but  undaunted. 
Bellowing  defiance,  she  lowered  her  head  for  the 
onset;  but  the  rope  tightened  with  a  cruel  jerk,  and 
she  went  down  again.  This  time  she  took  the  count. 
When  she  got  to  her  legs  Dick  allowed  the  loop  to 
go  slack ;  it  dropped  from  her  feet.  When  Rainboldt 
and  the  horse  made  a  pass  at  her  she  turned  tail  and 
made  off,  defeated  and  grumbling. 

Dick  rode  leisurely  back  to  his  calf.  He  gathered 
brush  for  a  tiny  fire.  Stargazer,  bridle  tied  to  the 
rope-end,  watched  with  excited  interest  every  fresh 
move  of  his  unaccountable  master.  He  began  to  think 
he  would  like  the  cow  business. 

Dick  took  the  little  running-iron  from  his  saddle 
and  shoved  it  in  the  fire.  He  sat  cross-legged  in  the 
sand  and  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  a  cigarette. 
The  calf  blatted  dismally. 

"Please,  Mr.  Bainboldt!" 

Mr.  Eainboldt  started  as  if  he  had  really  heard  the 
words.  He  blinked,  and  put  up  a  hand  to  brush  away 
the  illusion.  But  the  illusion  persisted  faintly. 

"Please,  Mr.  Eainboldt — I'm  so  sorry." 

"This  is  getting  to  be  a  habit,"  said  Mr.  Bain- 
boldt calmly.  He  held  up  one  hand  and  checked  off 
three  fingers  of  it.  "Three — three  and  a  beer — 
twelve  hours  ago  at  that.  This  is  serious. ' ' 

*  *  Won 't  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

Dick  turned  his  head ;  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  scatter- 
ing the  branding  fire.  Judith  Elliott  was  close  be- 
hind him.  She  sprang  down.  Nibbles  whinnied  to 


FORGIVE  305 

Stargazer  politely.  Dick  took  one  glad  step  forward 
and  checked,  stiffening ;  the  girl  came  on  to  meet  him. 

"Mr.  Eainboldt,  I'm  dreadfully  ashamed  of  my- 
self," said  Judith  in  a  small,  meek  voice,  "and  I 
humbly  beg  your  pardon.  * ' 

The  unfortunate  calf  rolled  imploring  and  hopeful 
eyes  at  her  as  she  came.  Not  Dick ;  the  yearling. 

"Here,  you  mustn't  feel  that  way,"  said  Dick 
stiffly.  "Forget  it!  No  bones  are  broken,  that  I 
know  of." 

"You  must  remember  that  I'm  only  a  very  igno- 
rant and  silly  girl,"  said  Judith  feverishly,  "and 
then  you'll  forgive  me — won't  you?" 

"Great  Scott,  woman,  you  mustn't  feel  like  that. 
I  don't  bear  any  grudge." 

"That  don't  sound  very  cordial,  Mr.  Rainboldt." 

Dick  pushed  back  his  tawny  mane. 

' '  Cordial  f "  He  waved  his  hand  hospitably.  ' '  Sit 
down — make  yourself  at  home.  Is  that  what  you 
want  me  to  say,  Jud — Miss  Elliott?" 

"No,  it  isn't.  I  hurt  you  shamefully,  and  I  want 
you  to  say  'Jud — Miss  Elliott,  I  forgive  you' — just 
like  that.  Those  very  words.  Mr.  Kainboldt,  I 
walked  home  every  step ;  I  wouldn't  get  in  the  stage. 
My  heels  were  blistered  and  my  tongue  was,  too.  Yes, 
it  was.  I  said  'Jud — Miss  Elliott,  walk,  expression, 
walk ! '  Now  you  '11  forgive  me,  won 't  you — Dick  ? ' ' 

She  held  out  both  her  hands  and  Dick  took  them. 

"It  sounds  intolerably  silly,  but  if  it  will  make  you 
feel  any  better,  Miss  Elliott " 

"Jud — Miss  Elliott,"  corrected  the  lady.  She 
swept  a  swift  glance  at  him  from  beneath  her  dark 
lashes. 


306  WEST  IS  WEST 

"Jud — Miss  Elliott,  then — if  you/  feel  that  way 
about  it,  you  may  consider  yourself  forgiven  —  but 
unf  orgotten. ' ' 

Then  a  strange  thing  took  place.  Her  warm,  dusky 
face  was  near  him,  her  eyes  were  shining.  Dick  tried 
honorably  to  free  his  hands  and  withdraw;  Judith, 
for  her  part,  did  the  same,  as  honorably;  and  both 
failed  dismally.  It  happens  that  way  sometimes. 
Indeed,  it  is  hard  to  say  what  might  not  next  have 
chanced,  had  it  not  entered  Stargazer's  head,  quite 
providentially,  to  go  back  to  the  high  hills  and  lib- 
erty. That  broke  the  spell.  Dick  was  standing  on 
the  rope ;  he  grabbed  it  just  in  time.  When  he  had 
brought  the  runaway  to  his  senses  the  girl  had  fled 
to  her  own  horse  and  was  regarding  him  across  the 
saddle,  grave  and  bright-eyed. 

"That  was  a  narrow  escape,"  said  she. 

"It  was,"  agreed  Dick,  and  looked  his  gratitude 
at  Stargazer. 

"I  wish  he  had  gotten  clear  away  from  you," 
mused  Judith,  her  cheek  on  the  saddle. 

"Oh,  was  that  what  you  were  talking  about?" 

"It  was.  I  wish  he  had.  Then  you  might  have 
ridden  my  horse,  while  I  walked  and — and  evened  it 
all  up. ' '  Her  face  reddened  with  shame.  * '  That  was 
such  a  dreadful  thing  I  did!" 

"Young  woman,"  said  Dick  firmly,  "listen  to  me. 
Never  speak  of  that  fortunate  affair  again,  do  you 
hear?  No  references  to  allusions  either.  Mind,  now! 
And  get  on  your  horse,  please.  I'm  going  to  turn 
this  calf  loose." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  brand  him?" 

"I  am  not.    Ugly  business,  branding — not  pleas- 


FORGIVE  307 

ant  for  you  to  see,  when  there  'a  no  need  of  it.  I  was 
just  teaching  my  horse  about  ropin',  anyhow.  James 
can  get  his  calf  any  day.  I  don't  care  if  he  never 
gets  it." 

"I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say  next." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"You're  going  to  say,  Jud — Miss  Elliott,  and  may 
you  see  me  home?" 

"I  am,"  said  Dick.  "Correct!  And  what  am  I 
thinking  now?"  He  swung  into  the  saddle. 

"If  I  tell  you,"  said  Judith  reflectively,  "you 
won't  take  advantage?" 

"I'd  scorn  to  do  so,"  said  Dick  virtuously. 

"Cross  your  heart  and  hope  to  die?" 

Dick  performed  the  required  rite. 

"You  are  thinking  that  I  am  going  to  fish  for  a 
compliment.  You're  wrong.  I'm  going  to  make  a 
confession — of  which  you  are  to  take  no  advantage. 
I  told  you  a  whopping  big  wrong  story  just  now,  Mr. 
Eainboldt." 

Mr.  Rainboldt  made  a  swift  review  of  recent 
events. 

* '  Oh,  that ! "  he  said  scornfully.  ' '  The  narrow  es- 
cape, you  mean?  You  didn't  mean  the  pony;  you 
meant  us  ? " 

"Yes.  We  mustn't  let  it  happen  again."  She 
pursed  her  lips  to  a  prim  line ;  but  there  were  little 
struggling  wiggles  and  wriggles. 

"We  will  not;  let  me  reassure  you.  It  wouldn't 
have  happened  this  time,  only  for  this  infernal 
horse." 

Judith's  eyes  brimmed  with  mirth. 

"Silly!  "she  said. 


3o8  WEST  IS  WEST 

"Yes,  wasn't  it?"  said  Dick  cheerfully.  "And  you 
call  that  a  wrong  story — that  feeble  attempt?  Bet- 
ter let  me  give  you  some  lessons,  if  you  want  to  learn 
to  be  a  liar.  Why,  you  poor,  innocent  child,  that 
wasn't  even  a  falsehood,  much  less  a  good  round  lie. 
That  was  timidity. ' ' 

"You  are  quick-witted,"  acknowledged  Judith. 
"The  boys  said  so.  They're  waiting  for  you,  you 
know.  I  promised  to  bring  you  back  with  me  if  you  'd 
come. ' ' 

"The  boys?" 

"You  met  them — Billy  Armstrong  and  Company 
— last  night." 

"Oh!"  said  Dick  doubtfully. 

"They'll  want  to  talk  to  you.  You  quite  won  their 
hearts,  Mr.  Rainboldt.  So  let's  gallop  up.  It's  get- 
ting late. ' ' 

' '  Wait  a  minute,  please.  Did  you  mean  for  always, 
or  only  not  now?" 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"I  wasn't  to  take  advantage  of  your  confession, 
you  said.  Does  that  mean  never — or  not  now  ? ' ' 

Judith  looked  at  Fantasia  Mountain;  she  looked 
down ;  she  peeped  under  her  long  lashes  at  Mr.  Rain- 
boldt, a  swift,  sidelong  glance.  Then  the  lashes 
drooped  upon  her  flaming  cheeks. 

"Not  now,"  said  Judith  faintly. 


CHAPTER 

FACE    UP 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  demanded  Dick,  "that 
you're  all  three  of  you  stockholders?" 

"Just  Pierre  and  I,"  said  Billy.  "Dowlin  has  a 
mine  of  his  own,  such  as  it  is. ' ' 

It  was  Monday  afternoon.  Dinner  was  over.  This 
was  Dick's  second  afternoon  on  the  Armstrong  porch ; 
the  stockholders  named  and  the  independent  mine- 
owner  kept  him  company,  this  time. 

Having  been  specially  requested  by  these  three 
young  gentlemen  to  take  an  hour's  nap,  to  visit  a 
neighbor — to  clear  out,  at  all  events — the  two  young 
ladies  had  decided  for  the  nap ;  and  had  flounced  in- 
doors in  no  very  good  humor,  leaving  the  young 
gentlemen  in  triumphant  and  undisputed  possession 
of  young  Mr.  Bainboldt. 

"Since  my  advice  is  not  asked  for,  I'll  give  it," 
said  Dick.  "You  sit  here  and  tell  me  you're  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  strikers.  Then  you  spring  it  on  me 
that  you're  stockholders.  Queer  stunt,  I  call  it. 
Operators  and  workers — now  there  are  two  words 
which  mean  exactly  the  same  thing;  but  do  they? 
Nay,  brethering !  The  whole  history  of  what  we  have 
agreed  to  call  civilization  is  in  those  two  words.  A 
mine  worker  is  one  who  works  mines ;  a  mine  opera- 
tor is  one  who  works  men." 

3°9 


3io  WEST  IS  WEST 

"Fascinatin'  subject,  word-study.  But  about  geol- 
ogy, now?" 

"The  study  of  operators  has  a  direct  bearing  on 
geology,  you'll  find,  Mr.  Armstrong.  Here  are  own- 
ers and  miners  in  full  sympathy,  and  a  strike  comes 
just  the  same.  What's  the  answer?  As  an  innocent 
bystander,  I  say,  look  for  the  operator. ' ' 

"I  don't  get  you,"  said  Billy. 

"You  have  to  play  deep  for  these  fast  ones,"  said 
Pierre. 

Dick  grinned.  "The  worst  thing  about  education," 
he  said,  * '  is  that  it  fosters  a  brutal  prejudice  against 
guessing.  The  right  guess  is  good  thinking ;  I  call  it 
thinking  across  lots." 

"I  don't  know  what  he  means,"  said  Pierre,  "but 
then,  neither  does  he." 

"I  do.  too,"  said  Dick.  "There  are  two  ways  of 
thinkin'  and  shootin'  revolvers.  Just  two.  One  is 
hand-to-hip,  click-click-bang!  You  don't  aim  nor 
nothing  but  your  bullet  or  your  thought  goes  home 
as  easy  and  certain  as  a  carrier  pigeon.  And  you 
can't  tell  anybody  how  to  do  it.  Either  you  can  or 
you  can't,  that's  all  there  is  about  it. 

'  *  The  other  way  is  slower  and  mebbe  surer.  You 
look  at  the  thermometer,  get  the  distance  by  triangu- 
lation,  allow  for  windage,  altitude  and  the  number 
of  drinks  under  your  belt,  hold  your  breath,  take  a 
long  sight  and  let  go.  That's  the  army  style  of  shoot- 
ing— the  logical  style  of  thinking.  It  is  mighty  good. 
I've  seen  some  dead  center  bull's-eyes  done  that  way. 
Me,  I  like  snap-shootin'." 

' '  Show  us.    Produce. ' ' 

"Listen,  then.    We  will  assume  that  you  fellows 


FACE  UP  3111 

represent  the  average  Torpedo  stockholder.  You 
don't  want  a  strike;  the  miners  didn't  want  a  strike; 
your  uncle,  one  of  the  largest  owners  of  Torpedo 
stock,  was  surprised  at  the  strike.  Virtuously  indig- 
nant, also,  I  gather.  But  the  point  is,  for  my  pur- 
pose, that  the  strike  took  him  by  surprise.  Also,  and 
vastly  pertinent,  the  strike  took  the  strikers  by  sur- 
prise. It  seems  to  have  been  wished  on  them  by  a 
thoroughly  competent  wisher.  Who  and  why  is  the 
merry  little  surpriser  who  surprises  so  many  differ- 
ent people?" 

The  stockholders  stared  at  each  other. 

1  'Spencer?" 

'  *  Mendenhall, ' '  said  Pierre.  * '  Don't  you  see,  Billy, 
Spencer  wouldn't  dare  do  a  thing  like  that  on  his 
own  hook." 

"But,"  said  Billy,  "my  uncle  assures  me  that 
Mendenhall  sticks  up  for  the  strikers  at  every  turn, 
and  is  greatly  distressed  by  the  whole  affair." 

"Was  that  like  Mendenhall?"  asked  Dick. 

Dowlin  removed  the  cigar  from  his  mouth.  "It 
was  not.  Mendenhall  is  a  highly  adjustable  phrase 
on  wheels  by  birth,  inclination  and  training,"  he 
said. 

"Such  eloquence  from  Dowlin  is  worth  a  volume 
from  any  other  man,  Mr.  Rainboldt,"  said  Pierre. 
"There  you  have  Mr.  Mendenhall 's  biography  in 
full.  Dowlin  is  not  usually  given  to  poetic  licen- 
tiousness." 

"And  the  superintendent?" 

"You  know  where  they  keep  things  here,  Billy. 
Get  the  hammers." 

"Exhaustive  and  painful  researches,"  said  Billy, 


3i2  WEST  IS  WEST 

"have  incontrovertibly  shown  that  Spencer  is  more 
objectionable  in  more  different  ways  than  any  other 
,man  west  of  any  place  east  of  a  given  point  and 
hence  on  a  line  drawn  due  south  or  vice  versa,  as  the 
case  may  be.  Makes  me  think  of  Mr.  Carker,  all 
teeth  and  smile  and  white  hands.  The  man's  a 
bounder. '  * 

"  'Eave  'arf  a  brick  at  'im,"  said  Pierre. 

Dick  nodded  sagely. 

"Thought  so.  The  miners  have  been  talkin'  to  me 
—  telling  me  things  they  didn't  know  themselves. 
They  bear  you  out  in  every  respect.  Old  Pat  Breen 
stayed  with  us  last  night,  too,  and  I  found  out  a  heap 
from  the  things  he  didn't  say." 

"Well?" 

"This  strike  was  forced  like  a  forced  card  in  a 
conjurer's  trick.  The  miners  got  treatment  no  self- 
respecting  man  would  bear — a  reversal  of  all  Tor- 
pedo traditions,  even  of  the  policy  Spencer  had  fol- 
lowed since  he  came.  The  timber  supply  was  cut 
short  suddenly,  without  reason,  and  where  it  was 
needed  most.  At  exactly  the  same  time  the  ugly 
treatment  began  —  dockin'  wages,  arbitrary  dis- 
charge of  men  for  no  cause  given,  hard  words,  un- 
spoken slights." 

1 '  But  what  motive  could  there  be  in  all  this  ? ' ' 

"The  love  of  unearned  money  is  the  root  of  all 
evil.  When  did  this  begin?  I  asked  'em. — Three 
weeks  ago. — Where  were  they  workin'  at  the  time? — 
All  over;  lots  of  places. — But  where  was  the  work 
bein'  pushed? — At  such  a  place.  Another  man,  old 
Malcolm  Jedcoe,  remember  that  the  ore  had  struck 
him  as  unusually  promising  just  before  the  hazing 


FACE  UP  313 

of  the  men  began.  Where  was  that? — At  such  a 
place — the  last  gallery  on  the  six-hundred-foot  level, 
if  you  want  to  know. ' ' 

"It  occurs  to  me,"  said  Billy  ruefully,  "that,  as 
stockholders,  it  might  well  have  been  our  place  to 
have  made  these  investigations  ourselves,  instead  of 
waiting  for  a  man  with  brains  to  happen  along. '  * 

"Correct,"  said  Dick,  "except  about  the  brains. 
You  chaps  have  got  the  brains.  What  you  need  is  a 
little  piece  of  new  equipment;  a  self-starter." 

"Eight-o !"  said  Pierre.  "I  knew  Billy  had  to  be 
cranked  up  to  get  him  in  action.  But  I  hadn't  noticed 
it  on  myself.  Thanks  to  you.  Proceed.  Press  the 
button.  Turn  on  the  juice.  Go  easy  'round  the 
corners." 

"All  right.  This  A.  M.,  old  Pat  Breen  volunteered 
some  information — volunteers  it,  remember;  a  sus- 
picious circumstance  in  itself.  He  remarked,  quite 
casually,  in  reference  to  nothing  at  all,  that  Spencer 
had  made  some  new  borings  just  before  the  trouble 
began.  Where?  'Just  beyond  the  end  of  the  six- 
hundred-foot  level,  as  I  figure  it,'  says  Breen.  'Be- 
tween there  and  the  end  of  the  South  Tunnel. '  ' ' 

The  two  stockholders  brought  their  chairs  to  a 
level  and  looked  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise. 

"My  heart  is  God's  little  garden,"  quoth  Pierre, 
"and  this  is  a  plant.  Billy;  it's  a  freeze-out.  Was. 
any  report  made  of  these  borings,  do  you  know?" 

"I  do.    There  wasn't." 

"Has  Mendenhall  the  cash  to  buy  Torpedo  stock 
if  it  goes  down?"  asked  Dick. 

"I  think  not.  Clem  Gray  has,  though  —  his 
nephew. ' ' 


WEST  IS  WEST 

"It's  face  up,  then,"  said  Dick.  "They've  struck 
rich  ore ;  they're  keeping  it  mum  and  playing  beggar- 
my-neighbor  with  the  mine  to  beat  down  the  price 
of  stock.  How  about  it,  Dowlin?" 

"Face  up,"  said  Ed. 

"I  wish,  Mr.  Rainboldt,"  said  Billy,  "that  you'd 
come  with  us  and  talk  with  Uncle  Jim.  Maybe  you 
can  make  him  see  it. ' ' 

1  i  Not  to-day.  I  gather  that  your  uncle  is,  shall  we 
say,  a  very  firm  old  gentleman?  And  we  haven't  got 
one  iota — whatever  that  is — of  real  proof.  Not  a 
thing  but  the  right  guess.  What  you  want  is  samples 
from  the  six-hundred-foot  galleries  or  the  South 
Tunnel — samples  gathered  in  the  dark  of  the  moon. ' ' 

"But  even  after  we  get  the  samples  —  and  that 
won't  be  easy  to  do  without  rousing  Mendenhall's 
suspicions — the  assayer  is  Mendenhall's  man,"  ob- 
jected Billy.  "We'll  have  to  send  away  for  an  assay 
before  we  can  be  sure.  That  will  take  time,  and  time 
is  just  what  we  haven't  got  to  spare.  If  another 
batch  of  strike  breakers  comes  we're  apt  to  have  a 
fair  imitation  of  merry  hell  here.  You  'd  better  come 
along  and  talk  Uncle  J.  C.  over,  Eainboldt.  You 
could  sell  a  merry-go-round  to  an  undertaker." 

"I'd  rather  not.  Not  to-day,  anyhow.  I'm  apt  to 
get  out  of  patience  when  people  are  firm,  that  way. 
And  I  always  like  to  keep  a  little  patience  on  hand 
for  emergencies." 

"Besides,"  hazarded  Pierre,  "you  have  problems 
of  your  own?" 

* '  Here  they  come  now, ' '  said  Billy.  ' '  They  didn  't 
sleep  long." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

OB    BARTER 


RAINBOLDT  went  home  early,  declining  an  invila- 
tion  to  supper.  Miss  Violet  had  been  kind,  but  Miss 
Judith  had  been  inexplicably  civil.  The  experienced 
man  was  hurt  and  grieved.  His  experience  had  been 
gained  in  dealings  with  other  men.  It  is  held  by 
many  that  certain  emotions  affect  the  judgment  ad- 
versely. 

He  passed  the  incoming  stage;  he  climbed  the 
steeps  of  San  Clemente  Pass  at  sundown  ;  he  turned 
at  the  summit  for  a  red  glimpse  of  the  high  western 
plain,  a  shimmering  wedge  between  the  foothills. 

A  stone  rolled  clattering:  Rainboldt  turned  his 
head.  A  man  rode  down  the  high  trail  from  the 
south.  Rainboldt  waited  for  him. 

"Mr.  Rainboldt,  I  believe?"  sard  the  newcomer, 
and  flashed  a  double  row  of  gleaming  teeth. 

"Your  belief  is  well  founded,"  said  Dick.  He 
knew  the  man  by  description;  there  could  be  no 
brother  to  that  false,  toothy  smile,  not  in  San  Cle- 
mente. "And  you  are,  Mr.  Spencer?"  Dick  held 
the  other  with  his  eyes;  he  slipped  a  silver  watch 
from  his  pocket  to  his  bootleg.  The  thing  was  done 
ostentatiously,  a  palpable  insult.  It  brought  no 
abatement  of  the  white  and  even  teeth. 

"I  wish  to  speak  with  you,  Mr.  Rainboldt,  on  a 

315 


316  WEST  IS  WEST 

matter  of  some  importance.    I  have  been  waiting  for 
you. ' ' 

"I  listen." 

"I  am,  as  you  know,  the  manager  of  the  Torpedo. 
Mr.  Connor  has  given  me  golden  opinions  of  you. 
He  assures  me  that  you  are  the  very  man  for  my 
purpose." 

"Considering  your  informant,"  said  Dick  slowly, 
"considering  yourself,  and  me — I  begin  to  have 
opinions  about  your  purpose." 

The  teeth  expressed  no  resentment. 

"Connor  tells  me  that  you  are  brave  to  a  fault; 
reckless.  You  are  young,  high-spirited,  foot-loose. 
You  have  the  world  before  you  to  choose  from ;  you 
can  go  where  you  will.  You  are  out  of  work;  it  is 
thought  that  you  are  not  indifferent  to  money.  May 
I  rely  on  your  discretion?" 

"You  mean,  am  I  for  sale ?  I  am — for  cash.  Stop 
beating  about  the  bush.  I  get  the  idea,  and  the  words 
we  can  save  for  other  things.  Let's  have  it.  Never 
mind  the  sugar-coating.  I'm  not  squeamish." 

This  plain  speaking  was  not  at  all  to  Spencer's 
mind.  He  had  thought  to  gloss  his  purpose  with 
half-words.  He  drew  back,  disconcerted. 

"Can  I  trust  you?" 

"You  can  trust  me  to  do  exactly  what  you  pay  me 
for — no  more,  no  less,"  said  Kainboldt  bluntly. 

1 '  But  if  you  do  not  accept  my  offer  ? ' ' 

Dick  reflected. 

"Short  of  burning  an  orphan  asylum  or  running 
a  newspaper  contest  for  the  most  popular  young 
lady,  I'm  your  man.  If  I  don't  play  I'll  keep  mum, 
anyhow.  Give  it  a  name.  No,  stop  a  little.  Maybe 


SALE  OR  BARTER  317 

you  won't  need  to  tell  me.  Why  don't  you  set  Con- 
nor at  it?  If  it  is  too  strong  for  his  stomach  you'd 
better  keep  still. ' ' 

"No,  no;  it's  not  that  at  all,"  said  Spencer 
eagerly.  "It's  this  way.  Connor  and  his  gang  must 
not  have  any  part  in  the  play.  And  the  chief  reason 
for  selecting  you  is  that  your  row  with  Connor  the 
other  night  has  identified  you  with  the  strikers.  No 
suspicion  will  fall  on  you. ' ' 

"It  is  to  discredit  the  strikers,  then?" 

"Exactly.  The  strike-breakers  must  be  above  sus- 
picion. The  play  must  be  pulled  off  when  Connor's 
crowd  are  in  evidence  elsewhere,  so  no  blame  can 
possibly  attach  to  them.  Do  it  at  night.  They'll  all 
be  at  the  saloon." 

"Do  what  at  night?  What  do  you  want  to  Flet- 
cherize  your  talk  for?  You  can't  make  any  deal  with 
me  unless  you  speak  out  of  your  mouth.  What  is  it 
you  want  me  to  do?" 

Spencer  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "You 
know  how  to  use  dynamite,  of  course?  Yes?  Well, 
I  want  you  to  blow  up  a  tunnel — an  adit. ' ' 

"In  the  Torpedo?" 

"Yes.  I'll  show  you  which  one.  We're  running1 
it  in  to  drain  the  mine  so  we  can  stop  the  expense 
of  pumping. ' ' 

"And  you  don't  want  that  expense  stopped?" 

"It  will  give  the  strikers  a  black  eye,"  faltered 
Spencer,  disconcerted  again. 

"And  you  don't  want  that  expense  stopped?"  re- 
peated Rainboldt.  "I  need  the  information  to  fix 
my  price  by.  Come  through. ' ' 

1 1  Well — no, ' '  admitted  Spencer.  ' 


3i8  WEST  IS  WEST 

" I'll  do  it,"  said  Dick.  " That  will  be  cheap.  I 
thought,  from  the  way  you  went  on,  you  had  a  dirtier 
job  to  do.  Twenty-five  hundred,  cash.'* 

"I'll  give  you  two  thousand." 

"Good  night  to  you,"  said  Dick,  and  put  his  horse 
I  to  the  trail. 

' '  Come  back !  Come  back,  Rainboldt.  I  '11  give  you 
your  price." 

"You  sure  will,  if  you  do  business  with  me,"  said 
Dick,  riding  back. 

* ' But  I  can't  pay  you  in  advance.  You  might  keep 
the  money  and  laugh  at  me. ' ' 

"And  if  I  do  your  dirty  work  before  I'm  paid  you 
could  keep  the  money  and  have  a  little  laugh  your- 
self," rejoined  Dick  tartly.  "I  will  tell  you  what  I 
will  do  with  you.  I'll  draw  straws  to  see  which  one 
trusts  the  other.  Or  I'll  play  you  the  first  game  of 
seven-up,  and  not  count  any  turned-up  jacks." 

"How  would  it  suit  you  if  I  paid  you  half  in  ad- 
vance and  half  after  you  do  the  job." 

'  *  Suits  me.  Fair  enough.  Get  your  dynamite  and 
the  cash  and  I'll  turn  the  trick  to-morrow  night,  after 
the  moon  goes  down." 

"I  can't  have  the  money  to-morrow.  I  have  to 
wait  for  —  for  a  certain  person  to  come  back  and 
draw  the  money  from  the  bank.  Come  Wednesday 
morning.  Wait  in  the  post-office  casually.  It  won't 
do  for  us  to  be  seen  together.  I'll  drop  in  to  post 
my  letters,  and  hand  you  the  money  when  no  one  is 
by.  The  other  half  I'll  give  you  the  same  way  — 
afterward.  Don't  let  anyone  suspect  that  you  know 
me. ' ' 

' '  Make  yourself  easy.    I  indulge  in  few  social  dis- 


SALE  OR  BARTER  319 

tinctions,"  said  Dick,  "but  I  have  a  limit.  How 
about  the  dynamite!" 

"Day  after  to-morrow  you  get  a  room  at  the 
hotel,"  said  Spencer.  "Register,  go  downtown  and 
leave  your  door  unlocked.  The  stuff  will  be  in  your 
room  when  you  get  back — in  a  suit  case ;  fuse,  caps, 
candle  and  all.  Keep  away,  from  Connor  and  his 
bunch.  They  mustn't  be  in  the  question." 

"If  a  breath  of  suspicion  falls  on  them  I'll  not  ask 
for  any  more  money,"  said  Dick.  "I'll  do  just  as 
you  said — touch  her  off  when  your  strike-breakers 
are  all  accounted  for  elsewhere.  You  want  me  to  set 
the  stuff  off  at  the  breast  at  the  far  end  of  the  adit, 
of  course?  All  right.  Go!  Vamos!  Git!  Hope  I 
never  see  you  again  after  I  get  my  money." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

LETTER  OF  THE   CONTRACT 

MR.  RAINBOLDT  followed  his  preliminary  instruc- 
tions with  painstaking  fidelity.  Coming  back  to  the 
Ugly  Duckling  he  found  a  strange  and  perfectly  good 
suit  case  in  his  room.  In  a  thick  letter  which  the 
clerk  handed  him  he  found  some  sheets  of  virgin 
paper  and  a  key,  which  key,  upon  trial,  fitted  the  suit 
•case  exactly;  a  striking  coincidence. 

" Goods  as  per  invoice,"  said  Dick  with  a  casual 
look  at  the  contents:  bundled  sticks  of  No.  2  dyna- 
mite, yellow  and  greasy,  candle-shaped  and  candle- 
sized;  a  coiled  fuse;  inch-long  fulminating  caps 
wrapped  in  wool  and  packed  in  a  little,  square  tin 
TJOX  ;  a  candle  and  a  miner's  candlestick.  Dick  locked 
up  the  yellow  death  again  and  put  it  aside  indiffer- 
ently. At  that  same  time  and  motion  he  put  it  from 
his  mind.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  the  stirring 
events  of  the  past  evening,  which,  for  the  better 
avoidance  of  the  strike  breakers,  he  had  spent  at  tho 
home  of  Miss  Violet  Armstrong. 

Dick  frowned.  He  was  eminently  human  and  had 
been  frankly  pleased  that  those  three  young  men  had 
so  unhesitatingly  accepted  him  as  comrade  and 
leader.  He  had  liked  those  young  men  at  first ;  now 
he  was  not  so  certain.  Pierre  talked  too  much ;  Dow- 
lin  was  too  silent ;  Billy  was  too  good-looking.  Be- 

320 


LETTER  OF  THE  CONTRACT     3211 

sides,  they  stuck  around  so,  always  underfoot.  Violet 
was  charming  certainly,  and  beautiful.  But  she  was 
wanting  in  tact.  Dick  frowned  again. 

He  sat  in  the  moonlight  for  a  long  time,  propping 
his  face  on  his  hands.    It  was  an  unhappy  young 
face.    The  mouth,  softened  of  late  by  laughter,  took 
on  the  old  hard  lines  again.    He  roused  himself  with  I 
an  effort. 

' '  This  won 't  do, ' '  he  muttered.  *  *  I  '11  see  this  Tor- 
pedo stunt  out  and  then  I'll  move  on.  No  place  for 
you,  Dickie."  ] 

He  flung  himself  on  the  bed  to  broken  slumber; 
and  Judith  Elliott's  face  came  softly  to  his  troubled 
dreams,  warm  and  dim  and  tinted,  smiling  and  kind. 

He  rose  late  and  broke  his  fast  leisurely ;  he  saun- 
tered downtown  and  idled  away  the  morning.  As  he 
lounged  slowly  into  the  post  office,  Alfred  Spencer 
bustled  through,  his  brisk  diligence  a  reproach  to 
Dick's  loitering.  As  Spencer  brushed  by,  Dick  felt 
something  against  his  hand.  His  fingers  closed  upon 
it  and  he  passed  on  to  the  sloping  pine  desk  built 
against  the  wall  for  the  accommodation  of  the  public. 
Here  he  looked  at  what  he  held  in  his  hand.  It  was 
a  long  and  bulky  envelope,  sealed  and  unaddressed. 
Dick  thrust  it  in  his  pocket,  yawning.  On  later  ex- 
amination, he  found  within  it  a  sheaf  of  bills. 

Dick  strolled  to  his  hotel.  He  lifted  up  his  eyes  to 
see  the  workings  of  the  Torpedo- Sundown  sprawled 
along  the  brown  hill ;  the  red  engine  house,  long  and 
squat;  the  black  gallows-frame  of  the  hoist  against 
the  skyline ;  the  great  gray  dump  tumbling  far  and 
far ;  the  wagon  roads,  cut  deep  into  the  long  hillside ; 
between  the  windings  of  these  roads,  the  scars  of 


322  WEST  IS  WEST 

lesser  shafts  or  probing  tunnels.  Lowest  of  these, 
scarcely  above  the  level  of  Rainboldt's  eyes,  was  the 
black  mouth  of  the  lowest  tunnel,  the  one  which  was 
to  drain  the  mine ;  lower  down  and  somewhat  to  the 
right  was  another  long  red  building,  the  boarding 
,-house  of  the  Torpedo-Sundown,  facing  San  Cle- 
(mente's  outmost  street.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  from  the  red  boarding  house  stood  a  weather- 
beaten  twin  to  it,  the  boarding  house  of  the  Modoc. 
The  Modoc  marched  with  the  Torpedo,  on  the  same 
lode,  but  the  mine  had  been  less  fortunate  than  its 
big  neighbor. 

At  the  tunnel  mouth  a  little  car,  one  man  power, 
shambled  in  and  out,  adding  its  mite  to  the  fan- 
shaped  dump.  As  Dick  watched,  the  car  was  shunted 
on  a  little  side  track  and  left  there ;  the  power  went 
whistling  down  the  hill  to  the  boarding  house. 

"Nearly  noon,"  said  Dick.  He  looked  at  his  watch. 

Men  came  from  the  tunnel,  three,  four,  six;  their 
'faint  and  breeze-borne  laughter  carried  thin  to 
Dick's  ear  across  the  deep  arroyo.  Another  man 
came  from  the  blackness  into  the  sun,  a  smaller  man, 
Connor;  he  cupped  his  hands  and  bellowed  to  the 
sky  the  miner 's. warning  of  set  shots: 

"Fire!    Fire!" 

He  ran  down  the  winding  trail.  Then  came  the 
muffled  deep  report  of  the  blasting,  deep  in  the  hill — 
five  shots,  six,  seven,  eight.  After  a  little  a  thin  wisp 
of  smoke  drifted  from  the  tunnel.  Another  bunch  of 
miners  came  down  the  hill  from  the  main  shaft. 

Dick  "packed  up  his  new  suit  case  and  sauntered 
through  the  office. 

"Hi,  you!"  said  Oleander.    "Dinner '11  be  ready 


LETTER  OF  THE  CONTRACT  323 

in  half  a  mo '.    Ten  minutes  to  twelve.    Better  wait. " 

1  'I'll  be  back  after  a  bit,"  said  Dick.  "I'm  just 
going  out  to  commit  an  outrage  on  a  friend. ' ' 

Dick  climbed  to  the  hill  in  the  white  glare  of  noon. 
Smoke  and  the  poisonous  fumes  of  dynamite  were 
still  thick  in  the  tunnel.  Dick  sat  on  his  suit  case  in 
the  sun  and  waited  for  the  air  to  clear.  He  cut  off  a 
generous  length  of  fuse  and  fixed  a  cap  on  it. 

"I've  got  to  set  it  off  at  the  breast,  just  as  I 
agreed,"  said  Dick  aloud.  "I'm  going  to  give  my 
respected  employer  the  exact  letter  of  my  contract." 

After  a  little  he  lit  his  candle ;  he  tied  a  handker- 
chief over  his  nose  and  trotted  along  the  rails  till  he 
came  to  the  broken  rock  from  the  noon  shots.  Be- 
yond this  he  fixed  his  bundles  of  dynamite  in  the 
fissures  left  by  the  last  shots ;  he  split  the  end  of  the 
fuse ;  he  cut  open  a  stick  of  the  powder,  and  took  a 
bean-sized  bit  of  it  on  the  point  of  his  knife ;  sticky, 
oily,  granular  stuff,  about  the  consistency  of  mashed 
bread  crumbs.  He  fixed  this  dynamite-bean  between 
the  jaws  of  the  split  fuse ;  he  held  the  candle  to  it. 
The  dynamite  spluttered,  sparkling ;  the  fuse  hissed. 
Dick  grabbed  up  the  empty  suit  case,  stumbled  over 
the  broker  rocks  and  took  to  his  heels. 

' '  Fire ! "  he  bellowed  from  the  dump.    « '  Fire ! ' ' 

His  cupping  hands  guided  the  warning  directly  at 
the  Torpedo  boarding  house.  No  one  answered ;  the 
men  were  deep  in  dinner.  Dick  walked  aside  to  a 
safe  distance,  sat  placidly  on  his  suit  case,  rolled  a 
smoke,  lit  it,  and  turned  admiring  eyes  to  the  sunlit 
peaks  across  the  sky. 

A  miner  came  from  the  boarding  house  and  turned 
up  the  winding  trail.  Dick  called  to  him. 


324  WEST  IS  WEST 

1 *  Don 't  go  up  there,  brother.  I  'm  blowing  the  tun- 
nel up." 

" What's  that?" 

"I'm  blowing  up  the  tunnel,"  repeated  Dick  pa- 
tiently. * '  It  ought  to  go  off  any  minute  now.  Bring 
your  toothpick  over  here  and  sit  down." 

The  miner  stared,  laughed  and  went  on.  Dick's 
gun  flashed  out. 

''You  long,  tall  son  of  Satan,  make  tracks  over 
here  and  make  'em  quick!  I  don't  want  your  blood 
on  my  head.  You'll  be  blown  to  bits,  you  fool !  Come 
over  here  or  I'll  shoot  you  in  a  holy  second!" 

The  man  came,  muttering.  His  face  expressed  in- 
credulity. 

"I  cut  about  a  five-minute  fuse,"  said  Dick  soci- 
ably, "but  it's  been  most  a  week  already.  Sit  down; 
it  won't  be  long  now.  Hi !  There  comes  a  team !" 

A  wagon  crawled  up  the  nearest  road.  Dick  stood 
up  and  shouted. 

"Fire!  Go  back,  you  fool,  I'm  blowing  up  the 
mine !  Beat  it,  or  your  horses  will  run  away  when 
the  dynamite  goes  off." 

The  wagon  whirled  and  went  off  at  a  gallop. 

"There,  he's  all  right  now,"  said  Dick  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  when  the  wagon  reached  the  bottom.  ' '  His 
team  can't  run  away  much  in  that  deep  sand.  Have 
a  smoke  1 ' ' 

With  roar  and  crash  the  hill  shuddered  under  their 
feet;  smoke  and  dust  billowed  from  the  tunnel- 
inouth.  Far  above  them  a  section  of  the  hillside  up- 
iheaved  with  a  great  shock  and  settled  again  with  a 
puff  of  dust ;  dislodged  boulders  rolled  crashing  into 
the  arroyo;  the  echoes  crowded  and  thundered. 


LETTER  OF  THE  CONTRACT  325 

"Some  ear-splittin',  what?"  observed  Dick  com- 
placently. "You'd  better  run  along  now,  son,  and 
roll  your  hoop.  You  don't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in 
this — the  witty  idea  is  to  have  the  strikers  take  the 
blame  for  it. ' ' 

The  strike-breaker  waited  for  no  further  permis- 
sion.   He  looked  back  once  with  a  white,  scared  face. . 
Then  he  made  off  at  a  canter. 

Below,  San  Clemente  swarmed  from  all  its  doors. 
Men  ran  shouting  from  along  the  trail  to  the  mine ; 
men  on  horse-back  poured  from  every  street.  The 
wagoner  shouted  to  them;  he  stood  up  and  lashed  his 
horses. 

Dick  sat  on  his  suit  case  and  smoked. 

The  strike-breakers  broke  from  the  boarding  house 
on  a  run.  They  carried  rifles  and  sixshooters.  They 
had  not  time  to  guess  what  they  might  expect,  from 
this  unexpected  development;  Dick's  captive  had 
been  incoherent.  But  Connor  was  taking  no  chances ; 
he  shepherded  his  flock  across  the  hill  on  a  quarter- 
ing course  to  a  clump  of  bowlders.  They  took  cover 
like  wounded  partridges. 

The  men  from  the  Modoc  house  and  the  neighbor 
shacks  were  first  to  arrive.  They  halted  at  a  little 
distance  from  Dick  and  stared,  incredulous;  they 
huddled  together,  waiting  for  reinforcements.  The 
first  horsemen  crowded  by  them,  Dowlin,  Doc 
Hughes,  Billy  and  J.  C. ;  old  Wigfall,  afoot,  pushed 
to  join  them;  others  dribbled  forward. 

Dick  threw  his  cigarette  away. 

"Good  evenin',"  he  said  pleasantly,  nodding  to 
J.  C. 

J.  C.  's  face  was  a  fine  plum  color. 


326  WEST  IS  WEST 

"You,  Rainboldt!"  he  thundered.  "What  in " 

"Don't  yell  at  me,"  said  Dick  resentfully.  "I 
don't  like  it.  Take  it  easy.  No  hurry.  What  is  it 
you  wished  to  know?" 

"I  can't  believe  you  had  any  hand  in  it,"  said  the 

'*•  plum-colored  one,  calming  himself  with  an  effort. 

1  *  But  that  fellow  on  the  wagon  says  you  told  him  you 

were  going  to  blow  up  the  adit.    What  did  you  mean 

by  that?" 

' '  I  was  afraid  he  would  get  hurt, ' '  said  Dick  truth- 
fully. 

"Afraid  he'd  be  hurt!  Afraid "  J.  C.chokcl 

on  his  emotions.  "And  you  a  guest  at  my  house!" 
he  gurgled. 

"I  don't  see  what  me  visitin*  at  your  house  has 
to  do  with  it,"  said  Dick  respectfully  but  firmly.  "I 
wasn't  your  guest  anyway.  You  didn't  invite  me." 

' l  Did  you  blow  up  this  mine  ? ' ' 

"Sure  I  did.  Why  not?  I  was  hired  to  do  it 
by " 

"Arrest  that  man!  Where's  that  fool  deputy? 
Gone,  of  course.  Arrest  him  somebody — throw  a  gun 
down  on  him. ' ' 

* '  Why,  I  wouldn  't  do  that,  "said  Dick  mildly.  ' '  I 
haven't  done  anything  wrong.  I  was  employed " 

"Damn  your  heart!" 

"You'd  better  hear  to  what  he's  got  to  say,  Arm- 
strong, ' '  urged  Dowlin.  ' '  He  ?s  got  something  up  his 
sleeve  besides  his  arm.  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about.  Give  him  a  chance. '  * 

* '  Give  him  a  noose  about  his  neck ! ' '  bawled  J.  C. 

"Now,  that'll  be  about  all  from  you,"  said  Dick. 
"If  you  had  a  lick  of  sense  you'd  know  that  no  man 


LETTER  OF  THE  CONTRACT  327 

would  be  doing  this  for  fun.  Keep  still !  As  I  was 
about  to  say  when  you  so  rudely  interrupted  me,  I 
was  hired  to  blow  up  this  mine  by  the  properly  con- 
stituted authorities.  Where  did  I  get  my  dynamite? 
I  didn't  buy  it  at  the  stores.  Ask  'em.  I  didn't  bring 
it  when  I  came.  It  was  furnished  to  me  by  my 
employer. ' ' 

4 'Who?  Who  1"  gasped  J.  C.  But  his  face  showed 
that  he  already  sensed  some  part  of  the  situation. 

4 '  I  couldn  't  tell  you  that,  * '  said  Dick  firmly.  '  *  You 
wouldn't  believe  me  if  I  did.  It  would  just  be  my 
word  against  his.  And  I  promised — it  was^  implied, 
anyhow — that  I  wouldn't  mention  his  name.  So  I 
won't.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  You  send 
some  of  these  riders  around  town,  telling  them  to 
scatter,  as  if  they  were  trying  to  prevent  anyone 
from  leaving  town,  but  to  be  sure  to  let  anybody  go 
that  tries  to,  unless  you  want  a  lynching-bee.  If  you 
do,  catch  him.  Then  start  a  solid  body  of  your  in- 
fantry straight  to  town,  letting  one  man  go  in  front 
with  a  highly  visible  rope.  Just  one  man  in  San 
Clemente  will  make  a  get-away;  he'll  hit  the  short 
trail  for  the  railroad;  and  I'll  bet  you  any  money 
you  like  that  you'll  find  that  man's  name  written  on 
this  paper."  He  took  an  envelope  from  his  pocket, 
wrote  a  name  on  it,  folded  it,  and  handed  it  to  Pierre 
Hines,  who  had  just  pushed  his  way  through. 

"We'll  do  it,"  said  Dowlin.  "I'll  go  with  the 
horsemen.  Wigfall,  you  manage  the  other  crowd. 
They're  mostly  your  men.  Here's  a  rope." 

"Wait  a  minute,  Wigfall.  I  got  good  pay  for  this 
job — half  down.  And  I  want  to  donate  it  to  your 
rtrikcrs'  fund."  I/ick  tossed  over  the  package  of 


328  WEST  IS  WEST 

f 

bills.  "That's  only  fair.  The  idea  was  that  the 
strikers  were  to  get  credit  for  the  job,  so  they  ought 
to  have  the  cash. ' ' 

Some  one  cursed  with  a  great  voice.  The  crowd 
trampled  and  swayed;  the  mutter  of  many  voices 
swelled  to  an  ominous  growl.  Dick  held  up  his  hand. 

"Wait!  It  was  planned  that  I  should  dynamite 
the  tunnel  when  none  of  the  strike-breakers  would 
be  accused  of  having  a  hand  in  it.  I  did  just  that. 
They  were  all  down  at  dinner,  as  the  Modoc  men  can 
testify.  But  my  employer  forgot  to  stipulate  that 
I  was  to  make  a  get-away  myself.  So  I  didn't.  I 
gave  him  his  money's  worth,  to  a  cent — exactly  what 
he  bargained  for.  He  is  a  frightened  man,  this  min- 
ute. Now  go,  you  fellows.  Not  you  Wigfall;  you 
stay  here.  I  want  to  settle  this  strike." 

Twenty  horsemen  set  out  at  a  gallop  to  circle  the 
town.  The  Torpedoes  detached  themselves  from  the 
crowd  and  plunged  down  the  hill,  led  by  Pendravis. 

"By  George,  they  mean  business!  That's  no 
play, ' '  said  Pierre.  '  *  There  he  goes ! ' ' 

A  horseman  flashed  from  the  corrals  behind  the 
Torpedo  offices;  he  raced  down  the  long  street  and 
turned  at  top  speed  into  the  river  trail,  the  short  cut 
to  the  outer  world. 

"Spencer!"  said  J.  C. 

The  Torpedoes  hung  along  the  hill  and  howled 
their  hate.  Pierre  opened  his  folded  paper. 

"I  find  written  here,"  he  said  with  great  tran- 
quillity, ' '  the  name  of  A.  Spencer.  So  that  incident 
is  closed.  Sorry  not  to  be  able  to  say  'I  told  you 
so,'  Mr.  Armstrong;  but  you  wouldn't  let  us  tell  you 
anything. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

YOU  NEVEB  CAN  TELL 

J.  C.  spoke  to  Rainboldt  in  a  chastened  voice. 

"Young  man,  it  is  evident  that  you  mean  well  by 
us.  But  why  not  have  told  me?  Why  blow  up  a 
perfectly  good  tunnel?  It  will  cost  money  to  make 
that  good." 

"You  wouldn't  have  believed  me  for  any  amount 
of  tellings,"  said  Dick,  bluntly.  "Besides,  I  prom- 
ised not  to  mention  the  name  of  the  man  who  is  now 
running  away  on  that  horse.  Had  to  jar  you  enough 
to  get  your  attention.  Wigfall  tried  to  talk  sense  to 
you,  and  you  bawled  him  down;  your  nephew  tried 
to  tell  you  that  you  were  being  used  to  your  own 
hurt,  and  you  wouldn't  listen  to  a  word.  You  roared 
him  down.  But  you  can't  roar  down  fifty  sticks  of 
dynamite.  I've  got  your  attention;  Mr.  Spencer  has 
obliged  by  pleading  guilty;  now  perhaps  you  will 
listen  while  I  tell  you  a  few  things  which  will  save 
you  the  cost  of  several  or  more  tunnels.  You  can 
verify  my  statements  later,  but  they're  true  now." 

"Go  on,"  said  J.  C.  meekly. 

{ l  There 's  been  a  big  body  of  rich  ore  found  in  your 
mine,  and  it's  been  kept  quiet.  Spencer  forced  a 
strike.  The  play  was  to  buy  up  the  stock  at  starva- 
tion prices.  The  mine  was  to  be  tied  up — What's 
that!" 

329 


330  WEST  IS  WEST 

It  was  a  rifle  shot  from  a  deserted  honse  beyond 
the  valley;  it  was  followed  by  a  dozen  more,  the 
steady  pumping  of  a  repeater.  The  bullets  whined 
above  them  and  splattered  on  the  rocks  where  Con- 
nor's crew  had  taken  refuge.  A  single  shot  made 
answer;  then  silence  fell  on  Fort  Connor. 

"Hell's  bells!  We'll  have  a  regular  war.  Duck! 
No,  stand  still,  everybody.  Don't  shoot.  Give  me 
that  white  handkerchief,  Pierre. ' ' 

Dick  snatched  the  scrap  of  linen;  waving  it,  both 
hands  held  high  above  his  head,  he  marched  straight 
up  the  hill  to  Connor's  fortress,  the  sunlight  in  his 
sunny  hair. 

" Don't  shoot,  Connor,"  cried  Dick.  This  is 
another  put-up  job.  Don't  bite.  It  is  none  of  our  do- 
ing. But  if  your  men  fire  back,  these  fool  Welshmen 
will  be  neither  to  hold  nor  to  bind.  Keep  out  of  sight 
and  you  can't  be  hurt.  We'll  come  up  as  hostages, 
if  you  say  so — anyone  you  want. ' ' 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,"  replied  Connor's 
voice.  "You  go  back  and  hold  down  your  wolves  if 
you  can;  you  can  do  us  more  good  there  than  here. 
You'd  better  hurry.  That  gunman  is  reloading,  I 
judge,  and  his  last  shots  were  to  your  address." 

"Lucky  you  fellows  didn't  give  him  a  volley,"  said 
Dick.  1 1  Good  judgment. y ' 

' '  Ain  't  it  the  truth  ? ' '  said  Connor.  ' '  Go  back,  you 
fool,  before  that  fellow  shoots  you.  Say,  we  seem 
to  have  lost  our  job,  don't  we?" 

1 1 1  reckon, ' '  said  Dick.  He  turned  to  go.  ' '  Hello ! 
They've  got  our  friend  with  the  gun." 

A  little  man  with  a  six-shooter  came  from  behind 
the  old  house,  driving  a  taller  man  before  him.  The 


YOU  NEVER  CAN  TELL  331 

prisoner  held  back,  imploring;  his  captor  fell  upon 
him  with  kicks  and  cuffs  and  forced  him  down  toward 
the  valley.  Dick  began  to  run. 

The  Torpedoes,  the  horsemen,  the  crowd  by  the 
tunnel,  were  all  in  motion,  converging  toward  the 
valley.  The  little  man  paused  on  a  shoulder  and 
called  to  the  oncoming  mob. 

"  Here's  your  gunman!  It's  Clem  Gray  I  Do  you 
want  him?" 

A  rope  was  over  a  limb  when  Dick  reached  the 
valley,  breathless.  The  mob  crowded  upon  Gray  with 
howls  and  curses.  Dick  shouldered  his  way  roughly. 

4 'Hearken  to  Breen,"  cried  the  bull  voice  of 
Caradoc  Hughes.  "Let  him  bear  witness." 

"Breen!    Breen!" 

"There's  not  much  to  tell,"  said  the  little  man. 
"  'Twas  Gray  that  did  the  shootin'.  I  was  close  be- 
hind, making  for  my  old  mare,  having  a  mind  bent 
to  keep  out  of  trouble.  But  I  saw  that  this  devil  of 
a  Gray  was  goin'  to  start  something.  Then  says  I 
to  myself:  'Breen,  you've  been  minding  your  own 
business  these  forty  year.  'Tis  a  pernicious  habit.' 
So  when  he  was  loading  up  his  gun  again,  I  took  him. 
That's  all.  'Tis  up  to  you." 

"Hang  him!    Oop  wi'  him!" 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  said  Dick  mildly. 

* '  And  whoi  not  f  Close  thy  mouth,  young  hop-o  '- 
my- thumb,  or  happen  we'll  swing  'ee  besoide  him!" 

' '  Shame,  Daave !  'Tis  young  Rainboldt.  Has  been 
good  friend  to  thee  and  thoine  this  daay.  But  t'other 
— oot  upon  him!  Would  have  sold  us  to  blood  and 
shame ! ' ' 

Dick  was  hustled -aside ;  snarling  horribly,  the  mob 


332  WEST  IS  WEST 

closed  in  upon  Gray.    The  loop  dropped  on  his  neck. 

1  i  Hang  him !    Hang  him ! '  ' 

A  counter  shout  went  up  at  the  crowd's  edge;  a 
louder  cry,  in  which  horror  and  desperate  fear  were 
blended. 

Drawn  by  a  galloping  horse,  a  buggy  thundered 
across  the  arroyo,  leaping,  rocking,  swinging.  It 
drove  a  path  through  the  crowd ;  men  made  way  for 
it,  fell  back  from  it,  white-faced,  and  ran'  for  life. 
Old  Mendenhall  stood  up  in  the  buggy,  a  terrible 
figure,  his  eyes  aflame,  his  white  hair  flying  in  the 
wind.  One  hand  lashed  the  horse,  the  other  held  the 
loose  reins  and  also  a  cocked  six-shooter;  and  the 
six-shooter  was  pointed  accurately  at  an  open  box 
on  the  seat  beside  him,  a  fifty-pound  box  of  dynamite. 
The  horse  plowed  to  a  stop. 

'  The  crowd  grew  very  still.  Then  said  Mendenhall : 

''Let  that  boy  go  or  I'll  blow  you  all  to  hell  in  a 
hand-basket !' '  His  eyebrows  bristled.  "Move! 
Take  off  that  rope.  Get  a  rifle,  Clemmy  boy.  Get 
you  a  horse,  and  go.  Don't  anybody  move  a  step. 
The  first  man  that  puts  hand  to  gun  I  pull  the  trig- 
ger. I'll  hold  'em,  Clem.  You  drag  it." 

' '  Take  my  horse, ' '  said  Dowlin  gently.  ' '  You  want 
to  watch  him.  He  stumbles  a  little,  going  downhill. 
You  do  what  your  uncle  says,  Gray.  He  is  a  fine  old 
man. ' ' 

But  Gray  caught  a  rifle  from  an  unresisting  hand, 
he  cocked  it,  he  rah  to  the  buggy  and  pressed  the 
muzzle  against  the  dynamite. 

"You  go,  Uncle  Hermie,  I'll  hold  'em!  I  got  you 
into  this  mess." 

"The  Lord  be  praised — this  is  old  Pete's  boy!" 


YOU  NEVER  CAN  TELL  333 

cried  Mendenhall.  "That  I  have  lived  to  see  this 
day!  Thank 'ee  kindly,  Clem,  but  I  couldn't  do  that. 
I'm  full  of  years;  I'll  be  noways  sorry  to  slip  away 
from  the  hubbub. ' ' 

"Can't  we  both  of  us  get  away,  Uncle  Hermie?" 

"It  couldn't  be  done,  boy.  I  can't  ride  fast,  with 
this  bad  leg  of  mine.  They  wouldn't  have  any  trouble 
to  overtake  us  even  if  we  could  make  a  start.  They 
would  just  ride  round  and  get  us  from  ambush.  No 
good.  But  I'm  glad  you  made  the  offer.  Good-by, 
Clemmy. ' ' 

"Coom  on,  lads.  Let's  go  whoam!"  It  was  old 
Wigfall,  and  his  rough  voice  thrilled.  "Happen 
there 's  worse  men  than  these.  To  whoam  wi'  you ! ' ' 

"Taake  my  horse,  Mr.  Mendenhall,"  said  Doc 
Hughes  gruffly.  "And  here's  my  gun.  We  wouldna 
give  ye  rifles  if  we  meant 'ee  ony  harm.  I'll  mind  the 
beastie  that  the  pooder  does  not  go  off  by  accident. 
'Twould  be  a  great  pity.  Be  off  wi'  you,  now.  San 
Clemente  is  no  place  at  all  for  you." 

1 '  You  have  given  me  back  my  boy. ' '  Mendenhall 's 
voice  shook  a  little;  only  a  little.  "Gentlemen,  I 
thank  you  kindly.  He  has  the  makin's — old  Pete's 
boy.  We're  going — and  we're  going  to  work  with 
our  hands  till  I  make  a  man  of  him.  If  I  have  to 
reform  myself  to  do  it,  I'm  going  to  make  a  man  of 
him.  And  when  that  day  comes  we're  coming  back 
to  live  at  San  Clemente," 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV 

MEDDLING  OF  MB.  BBEEN 

THAT  night  Emil  James  and  Pat  Breen  sat  in  the 
cool  and  freshness  before  the  Square-and-Compass 
house,  and  watched  the  trembling  moon  rise  over  the 
desert.  As  they  smoked  in  silence,  a  ghostly  rider 
drove  a  phantom  band  of  horses  across  the  wavering 
lanes  of  moonlight,  doubled  and  turned  and  headed 
them  back,  and  pushed  them  into  the  corral  at  last. 

''That's  Dick,  confound  him!"  said  Emil. 
"Ay."    Breen  tapped  out  his  pipe.    "Emil,  I  mis- 
trust all  is  not  well  with  the  lad." 

"And  in  a  case  like  that1?" 

"Nothing,  of  course.  What  could  we  do?  But," 
added  Breen,  with  some  irritation,  "were  the  cases 
changed  now — if  I  who  am  old  were  five-and-twenty 
and  it  was  Dick  Rainboldt  was  five-and- sixty,  Dick 
would  find  a  way.  I'll  be  bound  for  that." 

"He's  catching  a  horse,"  said  Emil.  "Now, 
what's  that  for?  I  thought  he  was  just  driving  in  a 
bunch  to  turn  his  bronc'  loose  with." 

They  heard  Dick's  saddle  come  off  with  a  thump; 
the  big  gate  was  opened  and  a  band  of  horses  trotted 
out.  Then  the  little  yard  gate  clicked  and  Dick  came 
up  the  path,  leading  Wiseman. 

"And  now  where  have  you  been,  you  jungle  cat?" 

334 


MEDDLING  OF  MR.  BREEN       335 

demanded  Emil.  ' l  Since  the  fireworks,  I  mean?  Oh, 
Breen  told  me  all  about  it.  They're  makin'  a  big 
to-do  about  you  in  San  Clemente.  Goin'  to  run  you 
for  town  pump." 

"Oh,  I  went  nosin'  round  the  hills,  huntin'  old 
Wiseman.  Missed  him  the  first  time ;  didn't  find  him 
till  near  dark.  He  was  hidin'  out  on  me,  the  old 
rascal.  Then  the  bunch  didn't  want  to  come,  and  my 
bronco  misbehaved  on  me  when  I  wasn't  watching — 
nearly  piled  me,  too." 

"Why,  what  do  you  want  of  Wiseman?"  said 
Emil.  "Where  are  you  going?" 

"  'Way,  'way  off,"  said  Dick.  "I'm  going  to  oil 
the  hinges  of  the  Golden  Gate.  Can  you  let  me  have 
some  corn  and  a  block  of  hay  for  the  horse,  Emil?" 

"Dick,"  said  Emil,  "don't  you  go  away  now; 
don't  you!  You've  got  things  coming  your  way. 
Stay  with  it,  boy.  We'd  hate  to  lose  you." 

"Every  chick  and  child  in  San  Clemente  is  your 
friend,"  urged  the  old  miner.  "Even  Connor. 
*  That's  a  fine  lad,'  he  said  to  me,  just  before  he  left. 
'Why,  Breen,  that  man's  got  sense!  Tell  him  for 
me,'  he  says,  'any  time  he  goes  broke  to  drop  me  a 
card — Clay  Connor,  Australia  N.  W. :  Please  for- 
ward to  Alaska,'  he  says." 

"Connor  has  gone,  then?" 

' '  Every  hair  of  him.  Chartered  a  Mexican  freight 
wagon  and  they  pulled  out  for  a  night  ride  to  the 
river. ' ' 

"Had  any  supper,  Dick?  There's  plenty  cooked. 
I'll  light  up.  Feed  your  horse. " 

"I'll  be  with  you  in  three-eighths  of  a  jiffy,"  said 
Dick  in  a  wretched  attempt  at  light-heartedness.  He 


336  WEST  IS  WEST 

clanked  on  to  the  little  stable.  Emil  lit  the  lamp. 
Breen  put  the  coffee  pot  on  the  coals. 

"He's  going/'  said  Emil. 

' '  He  is  that.  Blow  high,  blow  low,  he  must  be  forth 
from  this  place." 

At  the  bench  outside  Dick  washed  his  face  and 
hands  with  a  great  spluttering,  and  came  in  groping 
for  the  towel. 

"You're  not  going  to  leave  us,  Dick?"  said  Breen. 
In  the  lamplight  his  little  old  face  was  puckered  with 
distress.  "There  are  some  who  will  miss  you." 

"Nine  days,  perhaps,"  said  Dick  bitterly.  "No, 
I  didn't  mean  that.  Some  of  you  are  good  friends. 
But  I  must  go. ' ' 

"Well,  then;  I'll  be  jogging  home  myself.  I'm 
sorry  it's  that  way  with  you,  boy.  Good-by,  then — 
and  good  luck  to  you!" 

"The  same  to  you,"  said  Dick.    "So  long!" 

Where  the  trail  forked  the  old  Irishman  paused, 
irresolute.  He  mumbled  to  himself. 

"Gray  they  were — Katy's  eyes.  A  good  lass,  a 
merry  lass.  Dust  she  is,  these  two  and  twenty  years, 
and  her  young  babe  in  her  arms.  How  would  you 
have  me  do,  little  wife?  .  .  .  Have  your  own  way  of 
it,  then.  It  has  been  many  a  year  since  I  have  cared  j 
to  make  or  to  mar;  but  I've  meddled  already  once 
to-day;  please  God,  I'll  meddle  once  more  this  night 
— for  Katy's  sake." 

He  turned  up  the  San  Clemente  trail. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

ROBIN'S  NOT  HEBE 

"Is  it  not  brave  to  be  a  King,  Techelles, 
Usumcusane,  and  Theridames, 
Is  it  not  passing  brave  to  be  a  King, 
And  ride  in  triumph  through  Persepolis?" 

IT  WAS  brave  ranting;  she  mouthed  the  sonorous, 
many-syllabled  names ;  proud  step  and  princely  hand 
were  purposely  mock  heroic.  But  the  high-poised 
head,  the  kindling  eye,  the  proud  thrill  in  her  gay 
young  voice — these  were  unconscious  and  above  all 
assuming. 

"Judith!    How  you  do  go  on!" 

"But  your  king  didn't  ride  in  triumph  through 
San  Clemente,  Judith,"  teased  Billy.  "He  slipped 
away  like — like " 

"Mist.  The  Arab.  A  snake,  'a  long,  slickery 
rnake.'  Morning  dew.  An  eye-opener.  A  stack  of 
whites.  Your  summer's  wages.  Billy,  you're  fail- 
1  ing,"  said  Pierre.  "I  noticed  it  on  you  this  after- 
noon. Even  our  Abysmal  Ed  unlimbered  himself 
for  a  few  well-chosen  remarks;  but  you  didn't  have 
a  word  to  throw  at  a  dog." 

"Bi^ht  you  are.  I  would  have  given  most  any- 
thing for  a  soapstone,"  laughed  Billy.  "It  wasn't 
so  much  that  I  was  scared,  either;  I  was  only  rea- 

337 


333  WEST  IS  WEST 

sonably  sacred.  But  my  poor  wits  couldn't  quite 
keep  up  with  the  procession.  It  was  just  one  simple 
little  thing  after  another.  Happenin'  in  the  simplest 
way,  too.  No  preliminaries;  no  introductions,  no 
explanations;  no  flourishes.  Just  happened.  Then 
some  more  happened. ' ' 

"  To  my  mind,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  use  such 
a  term,"  said  Dowlin,  "the  best  little  thing  that 
Judith's  young  man  did  was  stickin'  up  his  hands 
and  the  white  flag — makin'  terms  with  Connor.  It 
may  have  been  crowded  from  notice  by  more  spec- 
tacular happenings,  but  that  was  really  the  big  stunt 
of  this  eventful  day.  Anybody's  got  nerve.  But  it 
took  brains  to  do  that." 

"Hear,  hear!" 

"Now  you  stop  pickin'  on  Ed,"  snapped  Violet. 

' '  Then  my  young  man,  as  you  call  him,  prevented 
a  general  fight,  you  think?"  said  Judith. 

' '  General  fight  is  right.  Relations  were  distinctly 
strained.  A  massacre,  as  far  as  our  own  little  bunch 
was  concerned.  Ask  Billy.  Ask  Pierre — that  will 
be  better. ' ' 

"Far  better,"  agreed  Billy.  "I  haven't  caught 
up  yet.  I've  got  as  far  as  where  old  man  Menden- 
hall  started  to  do  a  Paul  Revere.  But  I'm  still  spec- 
ulatin'  on  why  he  didn't  jar  the  giant  powder  off, 
and  if  so,  why  not  and  what  next?  That  old  chaise 
of  his  was  proceedin'  from  thither  to  whence  by 
great  leaps  and  bounds  when  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
it,  dynamite  gayly  bobbin'  up  and  down  and  the  old 
gentleman  steadyin'  it  with  his  knee.  Fine!" 

"But  we  wander  from  Judith's  young  man,"  said 
Pierre.  "My  opinion  was  asked,  I  believe.  I  string 


ROBIN'S  NOT  HERE  339 

along  with  Ed.  In  my  judgment  we  missed  war  by 
one  clipped  second ;  and  Eainboldt  used  that  second. 
Connor's  men  had  the  bulge  on  our  crowd;  we  were 
in  the  open.  'Twould  have  been  the  survival  of  the 
fleetest  for  us.  It  would  have  marred  a  pleasant 
•  afternoon.  Then  Connor's  men  would  have  been 
picked  off,  one  at  a  time,  from  up  the  hill." 

"I  don't  think  you're  fair  to  Mr.  Connor,"  said 
Violet.  "He  wouldn't  let  his  men  shoot  back  at 
Clem  Gray,  you  said.  Don't  you  give  him  any  credit 
for  that?"  ' 

"Hello,  young  people !  Holding  a  post  mortem?" 
It  was  J.  C.,  benevolent  in  the  doorway. 

"We  were  just  commenting  on  young  Rainboldt's 
management  of  you,  Uncle  Jim,"  said  Billy.  "The 
way  he  told  you  where  you  might  get  off  was  worth 
coming  miles  to  see." 

"Wish  I  might  have  been  there,"  sighed  Violet. 
"It  isn't  fair.  When  there's  any  fun  I  have  to  stay 
at  home  because  I'm  a  girl.  It's  a  shame.  At  any 
other  time  everybody  treats  me  as  if  I  were  a  boy. 
Judith  never  says :  '  Bring  the  boys  and  Violet. '  She 
just  says:  'Bring  the  boys.'  Dad,  I'm  going  to  ask 
Mr.  Rainboldt  to  bully  you  again,  just  for  me — a 
private  rehearsal." 

"That  young  man  will  go  far.  He  can  have  the 
keys  of  San  Clemente  any  time  he  wants  them." 
J.  C.  paused  for  a  twinkly  smile.  "But,  even  when 
he  was  twisting  me  up  into  hard  knots,  he  restrained 
himself ;  I  noticed  that.  He  made  reservations.  He 
showed  a  consideration  for  me,  a  respectfulness, 
quite  uncalled  for  by  the  circumstances  —  or  so  it 
seems  to  me.  Confidentially,  I  think  he  had  some- 


340  WEST  IS  WEST 

thing  on  his  mind;  some  private  designs  —  whatf  Oh, 
Dowlin  ;  Breen  wants  to  see  you  at  the  gate.  I  nearly 
forgot  to  tell  you.'* 

''But  what  private  designs  could  Dickie  have?" 
inquired  Billy,  as  Dowlin  went  out.  "What  could  he 
want  I  '  '  His  speculative  eye,  in  its  wanderings,  care- 
fully avoided  Miss  Elliott. 

"Don't  know.  But  if  he  wants  it,  he'll  get  it," 
said  J.  C.  genially.  "No  use  talking,  some  of  these 
cowboys  are  grown  men.  They  have  to  think  for 
themselves,  and  think  quick,  in  that  business.  No 
time  to  send  for  experts.  The  bulk  of  the  cowmen, 
like  the  bulk  of  any  class^of  men,  are  only  so-so,  aside 
from  their  work  ;  but  when  you  get  a  really  good 
:  cowman,  you've  got  something!" 

Judith  rose  and  made  a  deep  curtsy. 

"Thank  you,  uncle.  You  are  all  witnesses  to 
that,  '  '  she  said,  impervious  to  banter  and  gibe.  She 
had  never  been  more  radiant  ;  she  danced  across  the 
room  now,  light-spinning,  gossamer;  she  turned  at 
the  window  and  sang,  gay,  defiant,  wistful,  laughing  : 


"What's  this  dull  town  to 

Robin's  not  here: 
He  whom  I  wished  to  see, 

Wished  for  to  hear. 
What,  when  the  ball  was  o'er, 
What  made  my  heart  so  sore? 
Oh,  it  was  parting  with 

Robin  Adair!" 

Violet  made  no  remonstrance,  but  she  favored 
Judith  with  a  prim  and  decorous  glance,  to  which 


ROBIN'S  NOT  HERE  341 

Miss  Elliott  responded  with  a  rebellious  little  moue. 

"What  was  that  splendid  quotation  you  gave  us 
the  other  day,  Pierre  I  The  one  you  said  applied  so 
well  to  the  cowmen  who  kept  right  on  with  their  cow- 
man-ing while  civilization  closed  in  on  'em?" 

' '  Oh,  that !    Let 's  see,  how  'd  it  go  V '    Oh,  yes : 

"Sowed  in  a  dream  amid  the  harvesting."  ; 

"By  George,  it's  true.  Civilization  is  their  har- 
vesting, .poor  old  chaps !  Some  one  has  said  that  the 
history  of  Europe  is  written  in  one  line:  'England 
is  an  island.'  And  another  true  thing  is  this:  the 
history  of  America  is  the  story  of  the  pioneer.  ... 
We  forget  that  sometimes." 

"What's  keeping  Ed?"  said  Violet,  rising.  "Let's 
go  out,  on  the  porch.  I  like  that  Mr.  Breen.  And 
the  moonlight  is  glorious." 

"Where's  Breen,  Dowlinl"  said  J.  C.,  oil  the! 
porch. 

"Gone." 

"Anything  wrong,  old  man?"  asked  Pierre,  quick! 
to  notice  Dowlin's  troubled  face. 

"Ed's  grievin'  over  the  opportunity  he  missed 
when  he  made  his  little  presentation  speech  to  Clem 
Gray,"  mocked  Billy.  "It  goes  like  this,  Dowlin: 
'Pray  accept  this  humble  offering  as  a  slight  token 
of  our  esteem  and  respect' — something  like  that." 

The  air  was  velvet.  A  cool,  fresh,  faint  breeze 
rustled  by  and  whispered  secrets. 

"Bully  moon!"  grunted  J.  C.  "Wonderful 
night!" 

"WTonderful!"  echoed  Judith. 


342  WEST  IS  WEST 

"Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold!" 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  to  the  night;  her 
young  voice  rang  out,  glad  and  high,  clear,  strong 
and  jubilant: 

"In  such  a  night  as  this, 
When  the  soft  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees 
And  they  did  make  no  noise;  on  such  a  night, 
Troilus,  methinks,  mounted  the  Trojan  wall 
And  sigh'd  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents, 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night." 

( '  Judith,  you  madcap ! ' '  said  Violet. 

1  'Clean  bewitched,  poor  child,"  groaned  Billy. 

Judith's  eyes  sparkled  joyous  mischief  and  defi- 
ance; she  dropped  one  hand  and  waved  the  other 
slowly,  beckoning,  above  her  uplifted  face : 

"On  such  a  night 

Stood  Dido  with  a  willow  in  her  hand 
Upon  the  wild  sea  banks,  and  waft  her  love 
To  come  again  to  Carthage." 

"I  can't  stand  this.  The  girl  is  fey!"  whispered 
Dowlin  to  himself.  Then  he  raised  his  voice. 
' '  Judith !  Here  a  minute,  won 't  you  f ' ' 

He  stepped  into  the  hallway;  Judith  joined  him. 

"Well1?"  she  said  cheerfully,  her  eyes  a-dazzle 
with  youth. 

Dowlin  paused,  uncertain.  Then  he  blurted  out 
his  word.  "He's  going  away  —  Eainboldt.  For 
keeps. ' ' 


ROBIN'S  NOT  HERE  343 

"Oh!"  said  Judith. 

"In  the  morning.    Breen  came  to  tell  me." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Judith,  bracing  her  small  mouth 
to  piteous  bravery.  "Come  to  the  piano,  Ed.  I'll 
play  and  you  sing.  I — I  don't  want  to  go  back  on 
the  porch." 

"You  want  us  to  go  home,  Judith?  I'll  herd  'em 
away  for  you,  after  a  bit.  I'll  do  a  bluff  at  a  song 
or  two  first.  Then  I'll  hustle  'em  out." 

"You're  a  good  friend,  Ed," 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

MONEY  TALKS 

DICK  tossed  restlessly  upon  his  narrow  bunk.  To- 
morrow he  would  pass  from  Judith  Elliott's  life  for- 
ever. He  recounted  the  excellent  and  unanswerable 
reasons  why  it  must  be  so.  It  was  preposterous  that 
he  had  dared  to  raise  his  eyes  to  her — serene,  high, 
unattainable.  What  had  he  to  offer  her?  Nothing. 
A  cowboy,  uncouth,  unlettered,  unmannered!  Folly 
and  madness ! 

Having  thus  firmly  established  that  she  was  above 
and  apart  from  him,  he  began  again.  Over  and  over 
he  toiled  at  his  endless,  hopeless  task.  Never  to  see 
her  again,  never  to  hear  her  voice !  That  she  should 
forget  him,  that  he  should  be  to  her,  at  best,  a  misty 
detail  in  a  half-forgotten  springtime;  he  could  bear 
that.  But — never  to  see  her  again! 

He  rose  at  last,  dressed,  and  went  out  into  the 
night.  A  few  clouds  were  in  the  sky,  and  a  chill, 
keening  wind  wailed  sadly  through  the  trees.  The 
high  cold  stars,  unchanged,  unchanging,  looked 
calmly  down  upon  him  from  immeasurable  heights; 
the  moon's  pitiless  light  fell  on  the  drear  and  lonely 
hills,  showing  their  barrenness  and  savage  desola- 
tion with  cruel  distinctness. 

He  turned  up  the  trail  to  the  San  Clemente  Gap. 

There  was  no  slightest  glance  or  tone  of  hers  that 


MONEY  TALKS  345 

he  did  not  remember  now.  The  warm  mystery  of  her 
wistful  face  rose  before  him,  thrilled  him,  lured  him 
on.  How  fair  she  was,  how  sweet  and  good  and  true. 
She  must  not  know,  she  must  never  dream.  It  would 
only  grieve  her. 

He  paused  at  the  last  little  hill  below  San  Clemente 
Pass.  There,  in  the  crest  above  him,  she  had  given 
him  the  dollar.  Was  that  a  lifetime  ago?  And  he 
had  thrown  it  away — fool  that  he  was — instead  of  ex- 
plaining and  making  it  easier  for  her.  He  would 
find  that  coin  now  and  keep  it — always.  That  was 
the  tree,  that  bush-topped  cedar,  beyond  the  second 
little  gully 

What  was  that — white — moving? 

The  neighbor  stars  bent  low  to  kiss  the  hills ;  the 
dear  old  hills,  never  again  to  be  remembered  apart 
from  youth  and  hope  and  love.  For  it  was  Judith, 
weeping,  sobbing,  searching 

The  kindly,  wise  old  moon  hid  then  behind  a  cloud. 
So  they  did  not  find  the  dollar. 


OVER  ON  THE  MALIBU 
CHAPTER  XXXVH 

THE  ENCHANTED  VALLEY 

REELING,  the  white  wrack  of  stars  fled  down  the 
west,  save  where  a  grim  rear-guard,  rock-stubborn 
in  the  rout,  still  held  the  dawn  at  bay. 

In  the  Hueco  stage,  L.  Orrin  Sewall,  cramped  and 
stiffened  from  the  long  night  ride,  glanced  enviously 
at  his  one  fellow  passenger,  now  sleeping  peacefully 
on  the  impromptu  berth — happily  combined  of  seat, 
baggage,  lap-robe,  and  mail  sack — which  Sewall  had 
found  impossible.  Thereon,  as  to  the  manner  born, 
Emil  James  curled  luxuriously,  oblivious  of  whip- 
crack,  lurch  and  jolting  wheel. 

Weird,  ghostly,  the  giant  candelabra  of  the  sah- 
uaro  shaped  forth  from  the  shadows  ahead,  bore 
down  upon  them,  slipped  by  and  faded  back  to  dim- 
ness in  the  rear. 

As  it  grew  lighter,  Sewall  saw  that  they  were 
plunging  against  an  enormous  mass  of  mountain, 
blue-black,  huge,  forbidding.  The  black  became  gray 
— brown — pink — but  Sewall  looked  vainly  for  gap  or 
gateway  in  the  frowning  wall.  He  was  about  to  ques- 
tion the  silent  driver,  when  Emil  rolled  over  and 
sat  up. 

' '  Ugh-h !  I  dreamed  I  was  asleep ! "  he  said  blink- 
ing and  stretching.  "Hello!  here  we  are!  Say, 

346 


THE  ENCHANTED  VALLEY       347 

you'd  hate  to  make  that  drive  by  daylight." 

Sewall  turned.  The  grouped  windmills  of  La 
Mancha,  the  last  stage-station,  were  already  far  be- 
low them,  so  clearly  outlined  as  to  seem  almost  at 
hand,  yet  shrunken  to  toy  dimensions.  Tiny  but  dis- 
tinct, a  meager  feather  of  smoke  curled  lazily  above 
the  cook-house. 

The  stage-road,  white  and  straight,  dimmed  to  a 
line,  a  speck  —  nothing.  Beyond  the  overwhelming 
desert,  Pinetop  and  La  Fantasia  loomed  monstrous 
and  unbelievable.  The  early  camp-fires  of  San  Cle- 
mente  shone  redly,  palpitant,  firefly  sparks  through 
the  faint  thin  mists  of  dawn. 

"There's  where  we  started  from — those  fires  yon- 
der," said  Emil,  pointing.  "Eighty  consecutive 
miles  from  here,  those  fires  are.  Don't  look  it,  do 
they?" 

They  wheeled  swiftly  up  the  steady  slope  of  foot- 
hill, over  a  road  of  decomposed  granite,  yellow  and 
red  and  golden  warm,  picked  with  white  gleam  of 
crystal  and  quartz,  so  beaten  and  packed  that  it  was 
resonant  under  the  scampering,  rhythmical  feet. 
Scurry  of  rabbit,  whir  of  startled  quail,  perfume  of 
blossomed  mesquite ;  the  ranked  sdhuaro  fluted  and 
gray-green  now  to  the  clearer  light.  To  right,  to 
left,  down  the  spinning  brown  isles  of  pungent  tar 
brush,  there  was  flaunting  of  riotous  scarlet,  flash  of 
crimson  flame — the  flower  of  the  cactus. 

Snuffing  cheerfully  in  the  cool  freshness,  the  four 
ponies  swung  gaily  around  the  long  sinuous  curves, 
eluding  ridge  or  arroyo,  ever  sacrificing  distance  to 
grade. 

And  now  they  were  at  the  very  base  of  the  Hueco  's 


348  WEST  IS  WEST 

mighty,  prodigious,  buttressed  bulk.  The  hazy  crest 
formed  a  battlement  frowning  and  sheer,  with  up- 
shoot  of  granite  needle  and  spur,  already  flushing 
to  a  delicate  pink  in  the  upper  sunrise. 

1  'So  that's  the  Hoo-ee-co  mountain,  is  it?"  asked 
Sewall. 

Emil  sat  up,  a  malicious  light  in  his  eye.  All  the 
long  road  from  San  Clemente  to  sleepy-time  his 
companion  had  enlightened  the  aboriginal  mind  with 
precisely  worded,  cocksure  information  —  more  es- 
pecially crushing  current  political  heresies  under  the 
weight  of  expert  authority.  In  labeled  pigeon-holes 
of  Sewall 's  neat  and  orderly  mind  were  filed  pho- 
nographically  accurate  records  of  the  wisdoms  pro- 
mulgated by  Prof.  J.  Langdon  Leighton,  of  Pharos 
University;  endorsed  by  men  whose  names  were 
synonyms  of  success,  and  full  of  sonorous  words  as 
blessed  as  Mesopotamia.  Emil  had  been  so  entranced 
with  some  of  the  more  poetical  terms  that  he  had 
privately  added  them  to  his  own  vocabulary ;  rolling 
them  in  silent  anticipation  as  sweet  morsels  under 
his  tongue.  " Empiric,"  " demagogue, "  and  " char- 
latan"— always  delivered  by  Sewall  in  accents  of 
virulent  and  scornful  superiority  —  especially  ap- 
pealed to  Emil  as  words  useful  to  him  in  his 
vocation. 

"Hoo-ee-co?"  he  echoed,  "No  siree!  H-u-e-c -o. 
You  pronounce  it  'whaco,'  and  it  means  'hollow,' 
like  a  tree." 

"Why  do  you  call  it  that?"  continued  Sewall. 
"And  where's  the  town?" 

Emil  looked  puzzled.  "Why — why,  we  call  it  that 
— well,  partly  because  that's  its  name,  partly  because 


THE  ENCHANTED  VALLEY       349 

the  mountain  is  a  hollow  mountain.  And  the  town's 
in  the  hollow  basin  inside,  like  a  saucer." 

"Someway,"  said  Sewall,  disappointed,  "I'd  got 
the  impression  that  the  town — what's  its  name — Son 
Todos? — that  Son  Todos  was  quite  a  place." 

"Oh,  well — like  a  butter-bowl,  then,"  said  Emil, 
generously.  "Saucer-shaped,  I  meant,  not  saucer- 
sized.  Strictly  speaking,  there  ain't  no  town.  Just 
a  four-story  settlement,  like.  Farms  in  the  valley, 
cows  and  horses  on  the  hillsides,  mines  underground, 
and  goats  in  the  upper  air.  Son  Todos,  where  we 
stop  —  stage-station,  post-office,  store,  everything 
else — was  the  first  ranch,  and  the  valley  took  the 
name. ' ' 

"But  why  Son  Todos?" 

"What  d'ye  want  us  to  call  it?"  said  Emil,  petu- 
lantly. "  'South  West  New  J.  Q.  Adamsburg?' 
'New  Canterbury?'  'Versailles  Center?'  'Tyre  and 
Sidon?'  'Son  Todcs'  means  'That's  All.'  Because 
— well,  just  because  that's  all.  You  can't  go  no 
further. ' ' 

"What  queer  names  you  have  in  this  country," 
meditated  Sewall. 

"You  from  Schenectady,  too?"  queried  Emil, 
tartly. 

' '  Schenectady  ?  Oh,  no ;  I  'm  from  Poughkeepsie, ' ' 
said  Sewall  in  all  simplicity. 

The  driver  choked.  "This  here  dust  all  the  time 
is  mighty  bad  for  my  throat, ' '  he  explained  his  first 
and  last  contribution  to  the  council. 

A  pipe-line,  straddling  on  crazy  stilts,  rambled 
drunkenly  down  the  tangled  hillside  to  a  string  of 
watering  troughs,  where  a  few  cattle  were  straggling 


350  WEST  IS  WEST 

in.  In  the  overhanging,  broken  precipice  ahead, 
Sewall  now  became  aware  of  a  shallow  fissure  set 
obliquely  to  the  mountain's  trend.  Suddenly  it  be- 
came an  appalling  chasm,  deep  hewn  by  the  stupen- 
dous chisels  of  fire  and  frost  and  flood.  Into  this  they 
plunged  blindly  though  it  apparently  ended  in  a 
hopeless  "box"  a  little  higher  up. 

"Surely  there  is  some  mistake!"  ejaculated  the 
Easterner.  * '  We  can  never  get  up  there ! ' ' 

'  *  Yes  we  can.  There 's  an  escalator.  You  '11  see ! ' ' 
said  Emil  reassuringly. 

At  the  last  moment,  rounding  a  turmoil  of  broken 
and  splintered  rock,  they  came  to  an  angled  cleft, 
narrow,  portentous,  dark ;  widening  to  a  wild  canon, 
scarred  and  gashed  and  torn,  its  cliffs  carven  gro- 
tesquely to  dragon  and  gnome  and  leering  face, 
spiteful,  haggard,  importunate,  sinister.  Turning, 
twisting,  by  boulder  and  gully  and  scar  and  cairn, 
flood-torn  wash,  abrupt  steeps,  hog-back,  with  down- 
ward plunge  and  squeal  of  protesting  brakes,  they 
held  their  doubtful  way.  The  solid  rock  opened 
magically  before  them ;  closed  irrevocably  behind. 

"We  call  this  Zig-Zag,"  volunteered  Emil.  "A — 
eh — a  whim  of  ours,"  he  added  diffidently. 

Sewall  actually  smiled.  "It  is  crooked,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

"Yes.  Good  thing,  too.  No  snakes  in  the  valley. 
Break  their  backs  trying  to  get  through." 

Another  turn,  followed  by  a  long  steep  pitch  up  a 
buttressed  shoulder ;  a  black  lettered  boulder  flashed 
them  ironical  warning : 

DANGEB ! 
SLOW  DOWN  TO  EIGHT  MILES  AN   HOUR ! 


THE  ENCHANTED  VALLEY       351 

They  came  to  the  top  in  a  breathless  scramble, 
bursting  through  that  unquiet  gateway,  that  shud- 
dering confusion  of  hobgoblin  nightmare,  into  a 
waiting,  waking,  sunlit  world  beyond. 

So  beautiful  it  was,  so  peaceful  and  sheltered,  so 
sharp  the  contrast  with  the  savage  grandeur  of  the 
Pass,  that  Sewall  involuntarily  broke  into  an  excla- 
mation of  delight.  He  quoted  under  his  breath : 

"The  island  valley  of  Avilion; 
Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow, 
Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly." 

The  air  was  fragrant,  balmy,  aquiver  with  bird- 
song  and  questing  bee.  The  saucer  slopes,  though 
boulder  strewn,  were  smooth  and  symmetrical  in  con- 
tour, thin-parked  with  cedar  and  live  oak  and  dotted 
with  strange  flowers.  Cattle  and  horses  grazed  lei- 
surely, raising  their  heads  to  regard  the  intruders 
with  mild  contemplation.  Bands  of  snow-white  An- 
gora goats,  escorted  by  knowing  collies,  were  on 
their  browsing  way  to  the  herbs  and  shrubs  of  the 
higher  reaches.  Above  the  winding  road  they  could 
see  the  frequent  scar  of  dump  or  tunnel  and  rock 
huts  clinging  to  the  hillsides. 

The  flat  floor  of  the  saucer  was  a  sweeping  field 
of  shaded  emerald,  unbroken  save  for  winding  irri- 
gating ditches  and  dividing  fences,  and  twice  grate- 
ful after  the  pale  desert.  There  were  no  buildings 
on  the  floor ;  the  level  land,  which  alone  could  be  cul- 
tivated to  advantage,  was  too  valuable. 

On  the  lower  hill,  barely  above  the  floor,  the  road 
circled  around  this  farm  land.  Just  above  it,  wher- 


352  WEST  IS  WEST 

ever  a  tiny  rill  ran  sparkling  down  the  mountairi, 
were  nestled  homes  of  flat-roofed  adobe  or  stone, 
deep  set  in  orchards,  vineyards  and  gardens.  For 
this,  the  hill  was  terraced  with  much  toil  to  a  sort 
of  giant  stairway,  blasted  from  a  rocky  slope.  The 
lower  side  of  each  step  was  walled  with  the  boulders, 
filled  in  behind  with  small  rocks  and  debris,  labor- 
iously covered  with  soil  and  leveled  for  irrigation; 
always  with  a  "tank"  on  the  top  for  the  hoarding 
of  water. 

"I  have  never  seen  a  fairer  spot,"  said  Sewall, 
drawing  a  long  breath.  "But  I  suppose,  like  every 
other  place,  it  has  its  drawbacks?" 

* '  It  has, ' '  assented  Emil,  decidedly.  ' '  Real  things 
— beef,  milk,  eggs,  grain,  fruit — they  have  the  best 
and  to  spare.  The  mines  are  good,  too  —  but  low 
grade  ore  and  the  long  haul  to  the  smelter — see? 
Even  their  beef -herds  can't  be  driven  across  the 
desert  in  first-class  shape.  Too  far  between  water- 
holes.  They  get  the  highest  market-price  for  what 
they  use,  but  the  surplus — well,  freight  and  shrink- 
age wipes  out  the  profit.  You  just  merely  get  day 
wages  for  your  trip.  Then  you  blow  in  the  day  wages 
seeing  El  Paso.  That's  about  right. 

"So  there's  no  money.  They're  learning,  though. 
They're  raising  their  own  pork  now,  which  isn't  con- 
sidered a  proper  thing  for  a  cowman  to  do.  They 
make  ropes  out  of  colts'  tails  and  rawhide,  mold  their 
own  candles,  and  let  the  women  wash  with  amole  to 
save  buying  soap.  But  there's  no  ready  money. 
Everything's  bought  on  time.  One  w°ek  after  steer- 
sale  the  money's  all  back  in  Kansas  City.  Exports : 
ore,  cattle,  mohair,  and  raw  material  for  freshmen. 


THE  ENCHANTED  VALLEY       353 

Imports:  everything  else.     But  they'd  be  the  hap- 
piest gente  on  earth  only  for  one  thing." 

""What's  that?"  asked  the  tourist,  much  inter- 
ested. 

"Debt." 

1 '  Whom  do  they  owe  ? ' ' 

' '  Each  other, ' '  said  Emil,  with  an  explanatory  wig- 
gle of  his  fingers.  "Always  buying  and  trading — no 
cash.  It  spoils  their  peace  of  mind.  And  here  we 
are." 

Where  the  largest  rivulet  tinkled  bell-like  over 
mimic  cascades  to  a  natural  shelf,  stood  a  cotton- 
wood  grove.  In  its  dense,  impenetrable  shade  the 
stage  drew  up  before  the  low  rambling  building  of 
Son  Todos — post-office,  store,  hotel,  livery  stable, 
blacksmith  shop.  Freight  depot  it  was,  too,  judging 
from  the  evidence  of  the  huge-wheeled  wagons, 
rigged  with  chains  and  stretchers  for  twenty-horse 
"jerk  line"  teams ;  each  with  another  wagon,  smaller 
indeed,  but  still  pnormous,  trailed  behind.  A  chuck- 
box,  in  the  trail  >./agons,  replaced  the  usual  end-gate; 
water  barrels  were  swung  on  platforms  built  at 
either  side,  just  forward  of  the  rear  wheels. 

"You  see,"  explained  Emil,  as  they  sat  down  to 
breakfast  al  fresco,  with  an  orchestra  of  far-off 
mocking  birds  and  the  cheerful  undertone  of  broken 
waters,  "You  see,  it's  no  trouble  to  produce  here,  but 
it's  a  long,  long  ways  to  the  consumer.  If  you  do 
your  own  hauling  —  well,  you  likely  aint  got  more 
than  one  little  muzzle-loading,  four-horse  rig.  You 
go  down  full  of  freight,  come  back  mebbe  empty  and 
mebbe  full  of  booze.  Got  your  choice  of  bad  or  worse. 
Whitly  now,  he's  got  five  or  six  big  freight  outfits 


354  .WEST  IS  WEST 

like  them  yonder.  He  does  the  freighting  as  cheap 
as  the  boys  could  do  it  themselves.  But  still  he  makes 
money  on  it,  for  he  freights,  as  you  may  say,  by  the 
wholesale,  and  gets  retail  rates,  d'ye  see?  And  he 
gets  his  own  stuff  brought  back  for  nothing.  Keeps 
the  teams  on  the  road  all  the  time.  No  loss  for  idle 
plant." 

1 1  He  ought  to  get  rich, ' '  said  Sewall. 

"Well,  yes.  He  is  doing  well — buying  some  city 
property  in  El  Paso.  But  as  for  actual  cash — well, 
you  see,  he  carries  'em  all  over  and  that  takes  a  lot 
of  money." 

"Carries  them  over?    I  don't  understand." 

"He  sells  us  everything  we  need — grub,  clothes, 
barbed- wire,  saddles,  everything — on  a  year's  time," 
explained  Emil.  "Sells  them,  I  mean;  I  don't  live 
here  myself.  Just  come  over  once  or  twice  in  a  while 
to  get  rested.  So  they  bring  their  produce  —  ore, 
mohair,  grain  and  baled  alfalfa — and  turn  it  in  on 
account.  He  don't  buy  it,  'cause  naturally,  mail  only 
coming  in  once  a  week,  he  can't  keep  track  of  prices. 
He  just  credits  'em  with  the  quantity,  sells  it  for 
them  the  best  he  can,  and  charges  a  fair  freight.  If 
there's  anything  over,  he  pays  their  taxes  for  'em, 
or  may-be-so  sends  money  for  their  kids  off  at  school, 
as  the  case  might  be. 

"Yes— Whitly  is  well  fixed,  all  right.  They  don't 
grudge  it  to  him.  He  keeps  a  look-out  for  good 
things.  If  there's  a  boy  that  ought  to  go  to  college 
or  a  young  woman  of  energy  and  enterprise  wanting 
to  try  the  city— why,  Whitly  finds  'em  a  chance.  But 
as  for  cash,  he  spends  it  fixin'  up  things;  improve- 
ments, you  know— a  little  old  flour  mill  here,  a  sorg- 


THE  ENCHANTED  VALLEY       355 

hum  mill  there — something  to  help  'em  all.  And  he 
coughs  up  surreptitious  for  valley-folks  out  in  the 
said  sad  world,  that's  sick  or  in  trouble.  There  ain't 
many  of  'em." 

Sewall  nodded.  "I  can  understand  that,"  he  said. 
" Prisoners  of  content." 

"So  while  the  old  man  handles  lots  of  coin,  he 
don't  keep  it  in  stock,"  continued  Emil.  "Any  mar- 
gin that  might  be  comin'  to  the  valley  he  brings. back 
in  the  shape  of  canned  progress — the  latest  thing  in 
sewing  machines,  phonographs,  and  the  like.  He's 
comfortable — same  as  the  rest — and  he  saves  them 
the  trouble  of  thinking.  But  about  all  he  gets  out  of 
it  is  the  fun  of  being  boss. 

"Well,  so  long!  I  am  going  up  to  see  a  friend. 
Folks  '11  drop  in  bimeby  after  their  mail.  Be  good ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

WIZABD    OP    FINANCE 

"No,"  said  Emil,  carelessly,  an  hour  later,  an- 
swering Cal  Rucker's  question  as  to  the  newcomer, 
"not  a  bad  sort  of  fellow.  He'll  maybe  want  to 
measure  the  Huecos  with  his  little  foot-rule  and 
reduce  'em  to  grains  Troy — but  there's  no  harm  in 
him." 

Here  he  was  interrupted.  George,  brother  to  Cal, 
rode  into  the  yard,  coming  directly  to  the  "gallery" 
of  Cal's  bachelor  home,  and  to  the  point. 

"Hulloo,  Cal!  Howdy,  Mr.  James.  Say,  Cal — * 
you  got  any  money?" 

Cal  turned  his  pockets  wrong-side  out,  made  hope- 
ful search  of  his  hat,  and  shook  his  head  with  de- 
cision. 

"Too  bad,"  said  George.  "I  owe  Tom  Hendricks 
on  them  milk-cows,  and  he  needs  it.  I  allowed  I  could 
borrow  it  off  Whitly,  but  he  just  blew  his  roll  for  a 
threshing-machine.  Told  me  he  hadn't  cash  to  give 
Tom  Garrett  an  advance  for  boring  a  well  over  the 
Divide.  I've  got  a  good  lot  comin'  from  Mrs.  Ha- 
gan's  boardin '-house  at  the  Mormon  mine  for  milk, 
butter,  eggs,  and  garden  truck.  But  'course  she  can't 
pay  till  the  boarders  pay,  and  they  can't  pay  till 
Jimmy  Dodds  gets  returns  from  his  last  shipment." 

"So  Hendricks '11  nicely  have  to  wait,'7  interrupted 


WIZARD  OF  FINANCE  357 

Cal,  cheerfully  dismissing  the  subject  as  trivial. 
' '  Come  along,  you  two,  and  see  my  pigs. " 

They  stirred  up  the  sleeping  beauties — one  white 
end  one  spotted. 

"Now,  them's  sure  nice  hawgs,"  said  George  ad- 
miringly. "Say,  Cal,  give  you  that  gun  you  was 
Y/antin'  for  'em." 

"I'll  give  you  one  of  'em  for  it,"  was  the  counter 
offer. 

'  *  No,  you  won 't.  Tell  you  what  I  will  do,  though, ' ' 
George  proposed.  "You've  got  to  be  gone  to  the 
roundups.  Let  me  fat  'em  on  shares.  I  got  plenty 
of  milk  and  corn  and  I  stay  to  home  steady. ' ' 

"All  right,"  said  Cal,  nothing  loth.  "Keep  'em 
till  December  first  for  half?" 

' c  Help  me  start  'em ! ' '  said  George. 

After  some  jockeying,  the  pigs  went  merrily  frisk- 
ing en  their  way.  Emil  and  his  host  were  returning 
when  George  came  back. 

"Hey,  buddie!  'Spose  one  of  them  hawgs  die? 
How  about  that!  Do  we  whack  on  the  other  one?" 

"Nary  whack.  I  was  always  luckier  than  you 
was,"  returned  Cal,  confidently.  ("George's  mar- 
ried!" he  added  in  a  commiserating  aside  to  his 
guest.)  "White  one's  mine,  spotted  one's  yours,  for 
better  or  worse. ' ' 

"That's  fair.  It's  understood  then  —  the  white 
one's  yourn,  and  Spot's  mine?" 

"Sure  thing!"  Cal  agreed. 

George  rode  a  few  steps  and  turned  back  again, 
struck  with  a  sudden  thought. 

"Tell  you  what,  Cal — I'll  give  you  the  gun  for 
your  white  pig. ' ' 


358  WEST  IS  WEST 

He  held  out  the  gun,  tempting  in  silver  and  pearl. 
Cal's  eyes  twinkled  covetously. 

1  'Belt  and  all!"  he  queried,  shrewdly. 

"Belt  and  all!" 

"I'll  go  you  once." 

George  promptly  unbuckled  the  belt  and  handed  it 
over.  Then  Emil  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"Run  along  now,  Gallic  boy,  and  shoot  tin  cans. 
I  want  to  make  a  little  talk  with  your  brother. ' ' 

When  Gal  was  on  his  way,  Emil  twisted  his  hands 
in  the  saddle-strings  and  said  diffidently: 

"I  didn't  want  to  be  too  forward,  Mr.  Rucker — 
not  knowing  you  very  well,  but — well,  your  brother's 
an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  this  is  no  use  to  me  just 
now.  If  it'll  help  you  any,  you're  welcome.  Been 
there  myself. ' '  He  held  out  a  crumpled  and  wadded 
hundred  dollar  bill. 

George  spread  it  out,  regarding  him  gravely. 

"Why,  this  is  right  clever  of  you,  Mr.  James, 
if  you're  sure  you  can  spare  it?  All  right,  then,  and 
thank  you  kindly.  We'll  go  back  and  have  Gal  stand 
good  for  this,  if  you'd  rather.  Good  old  noodle, 
Gal,"  said  George,  with  fraternal  indulgence." Lucky 
chap ! ' ' 

Emil  looked  back. 

Lucky  Gal  stood  half -turned  toward  them,  scratch- 
ing his  head,  glancing  alternately  at  his  brother  and 
at  the  six-shooter  on  his  open  palm,  his  whole  atti- 
tude expressive  of  dawning  distrust. 

"I  guess  that  won't  be  necessary,"  drawled  Emil, 
tone  and  face  of  preternatural  gravity.  "I  have  a 
good  deal  of  confidence  in  your  commercial  ability, 
Mr.  Rucker." 


WIZARD  OF  FINANCE  359 

" Thank  you  again,  then.  I'll  do  as  much  for  some 
other  fellow.  See  them  blame  pigs  hike,  will  you? 
Adios!" 

"Me  for  a  nap,"  announced  Emil,  as  he  came  up 
the  path.  Cal  sat  on  the  gallery,  a  puzzled  look  on 
his  face,  regarding  the  six-shooter  with  marked 
disfavor. 

"Good  gun,  Cal?"  asked  Emil,  with  lifted  brows. 

Cal  half  raised  the  gun  and  gazed  solicitously  after 
his  departing  brother. 

"I've  a  blame  good  mind  to  see!"  he  said 
earnestly. 

When  Emil  awoke  in  the  late  afternoon,  his  host 
was  not  visible.  So  Emil  made  his  way  to  Son  To- 
dos,  finding  there  a  lively  crowd  of  old  acquaint- 
ances. But  Sewall  adroitly  appropriated  him  and 
drew  him  apart.  Sewall  had  changed  notably  in 
twenty-four  hours,  and  his  slightly  patronizing  atti- 
tude was  abandoned  for  one  of  enthusiasm,  infor- 
mality, and  eager  inquiry. 

"This  is  the  greatest  place  I  ever  saw,"  he  said. 
"I  want  you  to  explain  a  number  of  things  to  me. 
In  the  first  place,  how  do  you  reconcile  Mr.  Whitly'a 
paternal  guidance  with  his  saloon-keeping?" 

"That's  easy,"  returned  Emil.  "He  does  that  to 
hold  the  boys  down.  He  hates  whiskey  some,  but 
drunkenness  a  good  deal  more.  So  long  as  he  keeps 
a  saloon,  d'ye  see,  no  one  else  is  going  to — not  in  this 
valley.  And  when  a  man  you  like,  a  man  that 's  done 
you  favors,  advises  you  to  taper  off — especially  if 
you  owe  him  a  good  deal  of  money  and  intend  to  owe 
him  more — why  you're  apt  to  heed  as  well  as  hear. 


360  .WEST  IS  WEST 

Besides  that,  you  know  he  won't  let  you  have  another 
drop  anyhow." 

"That's  clear  enough, "  said  Sewall.  "But,  see 
here,"  he  added  suspiciously,  "you  mustn't  play  any 
more  tricks  on  travelers." 

"Tricks?" 

"Oh,  you're  innocent,  aren't  you?  You  told  me 
these  people  have  no  money.  Why,  they've  got  it  to 
burn!  Buying,  selling,  paying  debts,  trading  and 
giving  boot,  and  always  handing  over  the  cash." 

Emil  recalled  the  solemn  political  and  financial 
maxims  laid  down  by  his  fellow  traveler  on  the  pre- 
vious night,  but  refrained  from  comment. 

"Oh,  well!"  he  said  with  lightsome  gesture,  "I 
told  you  they  had  the  real  thing — land,  stock,  pro- 
duce. If  there's  more  money  in  circulation  than 
there  used  to  be,  they're  not  really  any  better  off 
than  they  were  before — they  just  seem  to  be." 

Sewall  chuckled. 

"Oh,  you  don't  fool  me  any  more  with  your  whim- 
sicalities. Your  pretended  opinions  are  only  a  part 
of  the  characteristic  quiet  fun  that  seems  to  prevail 
here — like  the  'slow  down'  sign  at  the  pass.  Oh,  I 
like  it  here !  The  people  are  the  jolliest,  friendliest, 
best-natured  set  I've  ever  met!  No  blues  or  hard- 
luck  stories  here. 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you,  in  confidence,  that  I 
came  here  to  look  into  Mr.  James  Dodd's  coppermm- 
ing  proposition.  I'll  own  that  you  fooled  me  with 
your  humorous  account  of  financial  conditions,  and 
that  I  had  formed  an  unfavorable  opinion  of  the  busi- 
ness ability  and  energy  of  these  people.  But  when  I 
see  them,  everyone  with  elastic  step,  sparkling  eye, 


WIZARD  OF  FINANCE  361 

high  spirits — everyone,  even  Mr.  Dodd's  miners, 
with  the  confident,  assured  air  of  men  on  the  winning 
side — it's  prepossessing,  I  tell  you.  Of  course,  one 
cannot  allow  such  things  to  influence  one's  business 
judgment,  but  I  must  admit  that  their  jaunty,  care- 
free bearing  has  impressed  me,  and  that  I  rather 
expect  to  find  the  mine  a  good  thing." 

"Oh,  it's  a  good  mine,  all  right,  all  right,"  mur- 
mured Emil. 

"Be  the' "mine  what  it  may,"  declared  the  East- 
erner, bubbling  with  enthusiasm,  "it's  a  great  coun- 
try! I  intend  to  secure  a  holding  here — shooting- 
box,  summer-house,  that  sort  of  thing — and  bring 
out  my  nervously  prostrated  friends  to  get  back  into 
tune  with  life." 

"Let  me  make  you  acquainted  with  some  of  the 
boys,"  said  Emil. 

So  presently  they  were  the  center  of  an  animated 
group  under  the  trees.  Gal  and  George  were  among 
the  number.  When  most  of  the  male  population  were 
gathered  to  entertain  Sewall,  George  edged  Emil  to 
one  side.  He  was  highly  elated. 

"There's  been  th,e  blamedest  goin's-on  you  ever 
heard  of,"  he  confided.  "You  see,  that  there  bill  of 
yours  was  about  the  first  loose  money  around  here 
for  quite  some  time.  Our  credit's  good ;  we  all  know 
each  other.  We'll  pay  all  right,  sometime.  We'd 
rather  owe  a  man  always  than  go  back  on  a  debt. 
But  somehow  a  good  debt  ain't  the  same  thing  as 
good  coin.  I  reckon  every  fellow  around  here  either 
owed  debts  he  hated  not  payin',  or  else  there  was 
something  he'd  been  a-wantin'  bad  for  a  long  time. 
<Cash  made  quick  tradin'.  You  never  saw  such  cir- 


362  WEST  IS  WEST 

culatin'  since  you  was  rolled  down  hill  in  a  barrel, 
never. '  ' 

"I  tried  to  overtake  a  lie,  once,"  suggested  Emil, 
thoughtfully.  ' '  I  think  I  understand. ' ' 

" That's  the  way  this  was.  I  paid  Hendricks.  He 
handed  it  over  to  Nate  Smith  for  four  ponies  he'd 
bought.  Nate  turned  it  in  on  his  store  bill.  Whitly 
advanced  it  to  Tommy  Garrett  on  the  well-borin'; 
and  Tom  paid  it  to  his  fireman.  He'd  been  lettin' 
Tom  hold  out  his  wages,  'count  of  Mis'  Garret  bein' 
sick." 

"Well,  Tom's  man,  he's  sparkin'  Miss  Berenice. 
So  he  put  the  greenback  up  agin  Squatty  Eobinson's 
new  buggy  and  harness,  first  throw  at  dice.  Squatty 
bought  a  stack  of  alfalfa  from  Lon " 

" That  tossed  the  dog,  that  worried  the  cat, 

that  caught  the  rat,  and  so  forth!"  intimated  Emil, 
politely. 

"Anyhow,"  George  persevered,  "along  towards 
supper  time  the  Foy  boys  that's  driftin'  on  the  Mor- 
mon paid  it  to  Bill  McCall  for  last  winter's  beef. 
Mac  got  four  broncos  from  Nate  for  it — pick  'em 
anywhere  on  the  range.  Nate  was  now  so  plumb 
affluent  that  he  loaned  it  to  Jimmy  Dodds.  There 
bein'  no  change,  Jimmy  just  gave  it  to  the  four  men 
on  the  night-shift.  They  put  their  heads  together 
and  handed  it  over  to  Mis '  Hagan  on  their  board  bill. 
Mrs.  Hagan 's  that  tickled  she  puts  Bobby  on  a  burro 
and  surprises  me  with  it — the  same  old  bill  with  a 
red  ink-blot  on  it — and  I  hereby  returns  the  same  to 
you  with  my  compliments.  Much  obliged  for  the 
loan. ' ' 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  Emil,  pocketing  the  bill. 


WIZARD  OF  FINANCE  363 

"Whitly's  lighting  up.  Guess  the  boys  are  going 
in." 

The  crowd  was  slowly  sauntering  by,  deep  in  con- 
versation. 

"Really,  I  don't  know,"  said  Cal  to  Sewall  as  they 
passed.  "George,  he  speaks  pretty  good  Spanish. 
George,  what  does  'que  tomas  ustedes?'  mean?" 

"What  will  you  have?"  translated  the  unsuspect- 
ing George.  The  assembly,  turning  briskly  to  the 
saloon,  answered  in  joyful  chorus : 

"Beer!" 

And  Cal  squealed  like  a  pig. 

Alone  that  night,  Emil  stirred  up  the  fire,  took  out 
the  bill  that  had  so  prospered  Son  Todos,  looked  it 
over  carefully,  then  sadly  held  it  to  the  flame. 

* '  Pity  it 's  counterfeit ! "  he  said.  '  *  I  wonder,  now, 
if  all  them  debts  is  squared  up  honest?" 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

"IF  ANTONY  BE  WELL  REMEMBERED  YET*' 

"HELLO,  you!  Long  time  no  see.  Have  a  cigar," 
said  Whitly. 

'  *  Same  right  back  at  you.    Thanks. ' ' 

Whitly  pushed  out  a  chair.  "Rest  your  feet.  What 
can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Well,"  said  Emil,  "one  of  your  freighters  had  a 
horse  go  lame  on  him  awhile  back  and  I  let  him  have 
one  of  mine  to  drive  home. ' ' 

"Yes.    A  churnhead.    Thanks.    How  much V 

"Could  you  let  me  have  another  one  now?"  said 
Emil.  "I  came  over  on  the  stage  and  brought  my 
saddle  in  the  boot.  If  you  can  fit  me  out,  I'll  ride  on 
down  the  range  a  spell." 

"What  kind  of  a  horse  do  you  want?" 

' '  Oh,  any  kind,  so  long  as  his  name  is  Pussyfoot ; 
a  gentle  one  and  a  good  saddler." 
k  Whitly  put  his  hands  to  his  chair  arms  and  hoisted 
himself  up,  grunting.  He  was  a  short,  fat  man  with 
a  circular  face — a  shrewd  and  pleasant  face  for  all 
that.  He  waddled  to  the  back  door,  and  called  into 
the  courtyard. 

"Bill,  oh  Bill!  You  go  and  hunt  up  the  orneriest 
horse  you  can  find  and  name  him  Pussyfoot.  Bring 
him  here  for  James,  and  have  the  bill  sent  to  me. ' ' 

He  let  himself  down  in  his  chair  by  reversing  the 

364 


REMEMBER  YET  365 

hoisting  process,  and  leaned  forward,  hands  on 
knees.  "Well?  You  didn't  come  over  here  to  get 
a  horse  or  the  price  of  one.  What's  on  your  mind?'* 

"Railroad  coming  through,"  said  Emil. 

"Wolf!    Wolf!" 

"But  there  was  a  wolf,  sure  enough — don't  you 
remember?  And  there's  a  wolf  now." 

"Been  hearing  about  that  railroad  any  time  these 
twenty-five  years,"  said  Whitly,  briskly.  "Talk's 
cheap. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Emil,  simply.  "Dick  says  he's  going 
to  bnild  it.  I  reckon  that  settles  it. ' ' 

"Who's  Dick?" 

"Friend  of  mine." 

"Money?" 

"Brains." 

"If  you're  sure  of  that — well,  that  makes  it  differ- 
ent, ' '  admitted  Whitly.  ' '  What 's  the  idea  ? ' ' 

' '  Same  old  thing.  The  love  of  women  is  the  root 
of  all  evil.  There's  a  girl  going  to  marry  Dick," 
explained  Emil.  * '  Fine  upstanding  wench  she  is,  too 
— snapping  black  eyes — full  of  the  Old  Harry.  Old 
J.  C.  Armstrong's  niece,  she  is,  Judith  Elliott  — 
oodles  of  money.  And  Dick,  he's  got  a  silly  idea 
that  he  mustn't  marry  her  —  just  because  of  that 
money — till  he  has  made  a  pile  himself.  I  tried  to 
'tell  him  that  was  all  foolishness,  but  I  couldn't  talk 
him  out  of  it.  So  he's  going  to  build  that  railroad. " 

"Take  your  time,  now,"  said  Whitly.  "I  got 
nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but  squat  around  and 
enjoy  your  conversation.  —  Say!  are  you  going  to 
loosen  up?  Maybe  you  want  me  to  ask  questions. 
Is  that  it  ?  All  right,  then ;  who  is  this  Dick-man  go- 


366  tWEST  IS  WEST 

ing  to  get  to  put  up  the  money  for  the  railroad?  Nate 
Logan,  maybe?" 

"Not  such  a  bad  guess.  Nate  is  to  be  allowed  to 
put  on  the  finishing  touches,  but  he  won't  get  the 
chance  to  build  the  road, ' '  said  Emil.  '  *  Dick  got  his 
idea  the  same  place  you  got  that '  Wolf !  Wolf ! '  story 
— from  old  John  Henry  .^Esop.  Eemember  the  yarn 
about  the  quail  in  the  farmer's  wheat,  and  what  the 
farmer  said  to  his  boys?" 

' '  Yep.  Neighbors  was  going  to  come  to  help  reap. 
'No  hurry,'  says  mother  quail.  Then  his  kinnery 
was  comin'  to  help.  'No  hurry,'  said  mamma  quail." 

"That's  the  yarn,"  said  Emil.  "And  the  farmer 
says,  '  Boys,  we  will  now  cradle  this  wheat. '  '  Let 's 
go!'  says  the  wise  old  quail.  That  is  Dick's  idea. 
We're  going  to  build  this  railroad  ourselves — let's 
go !  Dick  picked  my  brains  of  all  the  information  I 
had  and  mulled  it  over  in  his  head  a  spell.  Then  he 
called  us  all  together  and  broke  the  news.  He  has 
the  full  confidence  of  everyone  in  San  Clemente,  man, 
woman,  chick  and  child — on  account  of  a  stunt  he 
pulled  off  about  ten  days  ago.  So  we  was  ready  to 
hark  and  heed " 

"Hold  on!"  interposed  Whitly.    "This  Dick— is 
he  young  Rainboldt,  that  busted  the  strikebreakers? 
The  fellow  with  brains  enough  to  think  instead  of ; 
shooting?" 

"Uh,  huh.    That's  Dick." 

"Better  and  better.  Shooting  don't  get  you  any- 
wheres. Listen ! ' '  He  held  a  cupped  fist  to  his  ear. 
'  *  I  thought  I  heard  the  whistle  blow  I  Go  on,  now — 
tell  it  to  me.7' 

"You  keep  still,  then,"  said  Emil  indignantly. 


REMEMBER  YET  367 

"Yon  talk  too  much,  Tom.  I  am  the  orator  of  the 
day — sabe?  Here's  the  plan.  We  all  buy  stock  with 
money  or  work.  Right  smart  of  money  in  Chautau- 
qua,  and  the  V  cross  T  is  in  it,  and  all  the  ranchers 
and  all  the  mining  companies.  We  do  our  own  graft- 
ing and  holdup  stuff ;  we  let  our  own  contracts  to  our- 
selves. Grab  and  graft  on  right-of-way  is  what  has 
always  scared  money  away  when  it  was  circling 
about  and  ready  to  light.  Old  Pat  Breen  and  me, 
we  had  claims  filed  all  across  San  Clemente  Gap. 
We  throwed  them  in  the  pool,  cheap,  for  stock.  The 
railroad  company — that's  San  Clemente,  rich  man, 
poor  man,  beggar  man,  storekeeper — has  laid  out  a 
townsite  east  of  the  Gap,  along  where  me  and  the 
rest  of  the  little  cowmen  have  strung  our  row  of 
shacks — that's  to  be  the  new  town  of  Morningside — 
everybody  in  on  the  ground  floor.  The  stage  line 
throws  in  their  wells." 

* '  That 's  the  idea, ' '  said  Whitly,  catching  fire.  ' '  A 
town  like  San  Clemente  can  do  a  heap,  all  pulling 
together.  It's  when  one  half  pulls  forward  and  the 
other  pulls  back  that  you  don't  get  anywhere.  We'll 
help,  of  course  —  and  Datil  and  Luna.  We'll  all 
benefit.  Count  on  me  to  the  last  dime.  You  want 
to  brace  the  Morgans,  too.  Old  Steelfoot  don't  know 
how  much  money  he  has  got.  What 's  the  matter  now, 
you  old  fool?  What  you  lookin'  down  your  nose 
for?" 

"Am  I  telling  this  story,  or  are  you?"  said  Emil 
coldly.  "I  am?  Very  well,  then,  I  will  proceed. 
That  is  all  thought  out  and  discounted — and  a  good 
deal  further.  You  are  elected  for  one  of  the  direc- 
tors; you  are  to  direct  Son  Todos.  Organize  your 


368  WEST  IS  WEST 

men  and  teams  for  scraping  up  the  road  bed;  have 
the  stay-at-homes  raise  grain  and  alfalfa  a-plenty. 
We  want  a  petition  signed  by  every  man- jack  of  you. 
Old  J.  C.  and  Wildcat,  they're  both  in  Santa  Fe, 
squeezing  a  franchise  from  the  legislature,  without 
any  business  methods  whatever;  just  a  demonstra- 
tion— no  franchise,  no  votes.  And  we  want  your 
personal  pressure  on  the  law-makers — heavy. 

*  *  Lone  Miller  and  Billy  Murray  and  another  man, 
they've  got  a  coal  mine  out  beyond  San  Quentin; 
they  turned  it  into  the  railroad  company,  cheap,  for 
stock. ' ' 

"San  Quentin?  Why,  the  railroad  will  go  away 
north  of  there — through  the  Datil  pass.  Won't  it?" 

"No  sir-ee-bob!  The  railroad  goes  mighty  near 
due  west  from  Ridgepole  to  the  head  waters  of  the 
Gila,  saving  a  hundred  miles  over  the  Datil  route. 
It  goes  through  Barnaby  Bright  Pass,  with  one  short 
tunnel,  two  hundred  yards,  to  give  a  straight  shoot 
into  the  main  canon  above  the  two  big  bends.  Canon 
of  Barnaby  Bright  just  needs  sweeping  out  and  dust- 
ing a  little,  and  there 's  your  ready-made  tunnel,  that 
would  ha'  cost  how  many  millions  to  make?  Yessir. 
And  the  fellow  that  had  it  grabbed  turned  the  right- 
of-way  in  to  the  general  pool,  cheap,  for  stock ;  just 
about  one-tenth  of  what  it  was  worth.  From  there 
west,  we'll  let  Nate  Logan  manage.  We  made  him 
first  Vice-President  and  General  Manager  and  Pur- 
chasing Agent.  He  don't  know  it  yet.  I'm  going  to 
sidle  down  to  the  N-8  ranch  and  tell  him  about  it. 
Logan's  been  snooping  about  out  west,  around  the 
Arizona  line,  all  summer.  Reckon  he's  Von  hunting 
the  best  way  into  the  headwaters  of  the  Gi'n.  They're 


REMEMBER  YET  369 

expecting  him  back  right  soon.  He'll  be  real  sur- 
prised to  find  Barnaby  Bright  grabbed  up,  and  his 
railroad  a-building.  After  I  break  the  news  to  him, 
I'll  go  on  down  the  range  and  gather  in  the  Morgans 
and  the  Fuentes  crowd.  We  want  to  make  it  unan- 
imous." 

"Only  room  in  my  old  fat  head  for  one  idea  at  a 
time,"  grumbled  Whitly.  "I  had  my  mind  set  on 
Datil  Pass,  seeing  it  was  big  and  wide  and  easy. 
Never  once  thought  of  using  Barnaby  Bright.  Who 
grabbed  it  up?" 

"Me,"  said  Emil.  "I  homesteaded  it  last  spring, 
before  the  round-up  started.  Now,  I'll  go  build  me 
a  house,  and  hold  it  down  till  the  railroad  gets  a 
franchise. ' ' 

"You  old  fox!    You're  the  one  that  got  this  up." 

"No,"  said  Emil.  "I  didn't.  All  I  had  was  an 
idea.  Dick,  he's  got  the  punch.  I  day-dreamed 
around  a  little,  mildly  interested  and  all  that.  Dick 
did  it. 

"He's  got  everything  ciphered  out  finer  than  a 
gnat's  tooth.  First  we  run  a  three-mile  spur  from 
Ridgepole  up  the  mountain  to  where  we  can  cut  our 
own  tie-timber,  and  so  will  haul  all  our  ties  by  rail 
except  them  first  three  miles.  Across  Magdalena 
plain  we  throw  together  the  cheapest,  dinkiest  little 
road-bed  in  the  world — one  straight  tangent  to  San 
Clemente  Gap.  Through  the  Gap  we  build  good. 
Then  a  spur  up  to  Pinetop,  and  our  own  saw-mill. 
From  then  on,  lumber  and  ore  to  haul  out,  and  rails 
back;  we'll  take  our  time  building  across  Malibu 
Flat,  cutting  our  own  ties  on  Pinetop;  we'll  make 
the  road  build  itself  f roin  San  Clemente  to  Barnaby 


370  WEST  IS  WEST 

Bright.  Logan,  or  anyone  that  wants  to,  can  build 
on  west  from  there.  But  we're  going  to  keep  this 
link  of  the  road  in  our  own  hands.  If  we  get  any 
through  freight,  all  right.  If  they  want  to  play  funny 
with  us,  we'll  wait.  All  settled  except  the  name. 
C.  C.  and  C.  is  the  best  we've  thought  of  yet — Cattle, 
Copper  and  California. 

"Well!"  said  Whitly. 

"Well,  what?" 

"That's  what  I'm  asking  you.  What  did  you  want 
to  see  me  about?  It  wasn't  to  spring  your  home- 
made railroad  on  me.  You  could  have  told  me  all 
that  by  letter,  just  as  well." 

"Better,"  said  EmU. 

"Better.  No  interruptions.  Such  being  the  case, 
let's  have  it.  Been  robbin'  a  bank?" 

' '  Well,  then,  I  '11  tell  you, ' '  said  Emil.  ' '  But  you  're 
to  keep  it  to  yourself. " 

"Don't  tell  where  you  don't  trust,"  said  Whitly, 
stiffly. 

"Keep  it  on,  Tommy — keep  it  on!  I  trust  you. 
But  I  want  it  distinctly  understood  that  you  are  be- 
ing trusted.  Get  that?  (Silly  old  fool,  aren't  you!) " 

Mr.  James  lowered  his  voice  to  add  the  last  re- 
mark in  a  confidential  aside ;  the  inference  being  that 
he  expected  the  sage  and  philosophical  portion  of 
Mr.  Whitly 's  mind  to  join  in  disapproval  of  such 
weakness.  And  Mr.  Whitly  came  up  to  expectations. 

"Guess  I  am,"  he  agreed  meekly  and  cheerfully. 
"Look  over  it  this  time,  will  you?  All  set.  Turn 
your  wolf  loose.  Proceed.  Go  on." 

But  Emil  hesitated.  For  once  his  ready  tongue 
was  at  a  loss  for  words :  his  eye  wandered  about  the 


REMEMBER  YET  371 

room  and,  finding  no  help  there,  took  counsel  with 
his  nose. 

"Yes,  yes?"  prompted  "Whitly,  leaning  eagerly, 
hands  on  knees.  "How  thrilling!  Root  of  all  evil, 
I  think  you  said. — Don't  wade  in,  boy.  Shut  your 
eyes  and  jump!  Make  a  splash!" 

Emil  took  the  advice  and  plunged  desperately. 
"You  know  there  was  a  double  hanging  in  Saragossa 
last  week?" 

"Keough  and  Tait?    Yes.    Good  riddance. " 

"Tom  Whitly,  both  of  those  men  were  innocent! 
Oh,  you  needn't  stare;  it's  true.  But  it  is  not  im- 
portant. No  one  knows  it  but  you  and  me.  Walter 
Keough  murdered  old  Gibson  for  his  roll  of  steer- 
money  and  sent  Tait  over  to  get  hanged  for  it.  But 
it  was  Tait,  and  not  Keough,  who  murdered  poor  old 
Van.  Tait  told  me  all  about  it.  'I  got  a  hanging 
a-coming  to  me,  and  I'd  just  as  lief  hang  for  the 
wrong  man  as  the  right  one/  says  he  to  me.  'So  I. 
don't  make  no  holler.  Keough  might  get  clear  if  he 
was  standing  trial  for  Gibson.  But  he  can't  get  clear 
of  murdering  his  own  pardner.  He 's  hung  himself. 
I'm  satisfied;  let  her  go  as  she  lays.'  Keough  lost 
his  nerve ;  mind  unhinged  and  sagging.  He  tried  to 
shape  up  a  story,  but  here  was  a  case  where  the  truth 
would  do  no  good,  and  his  lies  were  too  steep;  no 
.one  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  him,  along  at  the 
last;  he  was  fair  crazy  with  terror."  Again  Emil 
hesitated  and  groped  for  words. 

"Leading  up  to  say?"  prompted  Whitly. 

1  *  Yes.  Tait  told  me  something  else,  before  he  died. 
About  .  .  .  the  killing  of  Clay  Mundy.  And  he  said 
you  could  tell  me  where  to  find  a  man  who  could 


372  WEST  IS  WEST 

verify  his  words.  There  were  three  men  in  it.  One 
of  them,  Hamerick,  has  never  been  heard  of  since. 
But  the  third  man  was  a  cowboy  named  Joe  Hanson, 
who  used  to  live  here." 

''Hanson  is  dead,  Emil.  He  died  a  year  ago,  in 
Colorado.  But  Tait  told  you  the  truth.  I  know  the 
story.  Hanson's  horse  fell  on  him,  a  while  back,  and 
he  thought  he  was  dying.  He  was  in  dreadful  mis- 
ery. I  was  sitting  up  with  him  and  he  told  me.  It 
seems  that  Mundy  hired  these  three  men " 

"I've  heard  it  once.  It  is  a  shameful  story.  Don't 
put  it  in  words,"  said  Emil.  "And,  there  is  one  who 
must  never  hear  it.  It  is  a  story  that  must  die  with 
us  two." 

Whitly  mused  a  little.  "No,  you  couldn't  tell  her 
— considerin'.  But  isn't  it  a  little  rough  on  the  man 
MacGregor?  He  carries  the  blame — poor  old  chap! 
And  only  you  and  me  that  knows!"  The  fat  old 
man's  voice  was  low  and  wistful.  "I  have  felt  it  laid 
upon  me  to  tell  her.  But  it  wasn't  a  thing  you  could 
write.  And  then  again,  I  felt  that  I  oughtn't.  It  is 
a  hard  case." 

But  Emil's  glance  was  high,  and  Emil's  voice  rose 
clear  and  untroubled.  "MacGregor  wouldn't  mind. 
From  what  I  can  learn  of  the  man,  it  is  what  he 
would  have  wished.  He  would  want  to  spare  her. 
Why,  there  are  two  of  us  who  will  never  forget  him ; 
he  has  love  and  honor  in  his  grave ;  what  more  could 
the  man  want?  Don't  you  fret,  Tommy.  It's  all 
right — or  else  this  is  no  fit  place  for  any  of  us.  Sure ! 
Wherever  he  is,  all  is  well  with  old  Sandy  Mac 
Gregor ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  ARBITRATOR 

SOUTH  WELL  is  the  N-8  home  ranch.  It  lies  on  the 
bare  plain,  two  miles  out  from  the  southern  heights 
of  the  Hueco.  Against  that  background  of  mountain 
and  broad  plain,  the  buildings  and  corrals,  and  even 
the  tall  windmill  tower,  are  dwarfed  to  insignifi- 
cance ;  the  long  house  is  a  dropped  domino,  the  great 
gateposts  are  matches,  the  windmill  is  a  slender  pen- 
cil against  the  sky. 

Emil  James  drew  rein  at  the  water-pen  gate  and 
stared  toward  the  house. 

"What  the  Billy-hell  has  happened  now?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"  'Lo,  Emil!    Fall  off!" 

"No,  I'm  goin'  right  on,"  said  Emil.  "But  I  ask 
you  again,  what's  that  up  by  the  house?  I  don't 
seem  to  remember  any  trees. ' ' 

The  Mag  mule,  blindfolded,  dragged  in  a  weary 
round  at  the  sweep  of  a  creaking  horse-power,  pump- 
ing water  into  the  big  tank;  the  windmill  was  be- 
calmed. Spike  cracked  his  whip  at  the  Mag  mule, 
followed  Emil's  glance,  and  grinned  sheepishly. 

"Oh,  them?  Why,  those  infernal  boys — some  of 
their  doin's.  Mis'  Logan,  she  had  a  hankerin'  to 
see  the  old  place  where  Nate  made  his  first  start  in 
life.  She  kep'  a  pesterin'  me  to  bring  her  out.  So, 

373 


374  WEST  IS  WEST 

as  wo  was  expectin'  Nate  back  most  any  day,  I  car- 
ried her  out  from  San  Clemente — her  and  the  two 
kids.  Got  in  yesterday.  And  while  I  was  gone,  Tom- 
Dick-Bob  and  the  Watterson  kid,  they  allowed  the 
place  looked  pretty  bare.  So  they  went  up  in  tie 
hills  and  cut  down  four  of  the  nicest  little  cedars  they 
could  find,  and  dug  holes  and  set  'em  up  like  posts — 
shade  trees,  for  this  day  and  date  only.  'Twasn't 
such  a  bad  idea,  nuther.  They  look  right  nice,  and 
she  won't  never  know  any  different.  If  Nate  don't 
show  up  tomorrow,  I'll  take  her  on  back  to  town." 

"Ya-as,"  said  Emil.  "How  does  John  Sayles 
make  out?" 

1 '  The  kid  I  First  rate,  "said  Spike,  heartily.  "  I'll 
be  right  sorry  to  see  him  go,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"Going  soon?" 

' '  Bight  off.    Going  back  with  Nate. ' ' 

"Where  is  John  Sayles — up  to  the  house?" 

' '  Up  in  the  hills  for  a  horse-ride  with  Mis '  Logan 
and  the  two  kids — him  and  Tom-Dick-Bob.  That's 
five  kids  in  all." 

"Me,  I  lay  over  then,  to  see  John  Sayles.  Not  but 
what  he  '11  be  back  here  some  day. ' ' 

"Let's  go  up  to  the  house  and  stir  up  some  din- 
ner," said  Spike.  "Mag,  she  can  be  a-pumpin'." 

' '  This  new  man,  Lute  Evans,  that  Wildcat  Thomp- 
son smuggled  in — Crooknose,  Steve  calls  him — why, 
he  seems  like  a  pretty  fair  average  sort  of  a  man, ' ' 
said  Spike.  '  *  He  '11  do  to  take  along. ' ' 

"I  only  saw  him  once,  but  I  sure  liked  his  looks," 
said  Emil.  "And  El  Paso  thinks  well  of  him.  Is 
he  holding  forth  at  Fuentes  ? ' ' 


THE  ARBITRATOR  375 

"He  was.  He's  staying  with  the  Morgans  now. 
You  and  Wildcat  are  going  to  have  it  easier,  from 
this  on,"  said  Spike.  "Crooknose,  he'll  take  part 
of  the  responsibility  of  runnin'  things." 

"What  has  he  been  up  to  now?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  Jim  Webb  and  the  Morgans 
have  moved  to  their  new  well  under  Ked  Mesa — know 
that?  Yessir ;  got  a  gang  of  Mexicans  out  from  Luna 
and  slapped  up  a  big  stone  house  quicker  than  you 
could  say  Scat.  And  awhile  ago  they  shoved  a  big 
bunch  of  cattle  up  to  the  new  well — about  two  thou- 
sand head." 

"And  the  upshot  of  that,"  said  Emil,  "will  be 
trouble. ' ' 

"Well,  I  guess  yes.  I  put  off  down  there  to  head 
it  off.  Morgan  stuff  all  drifting  up  to  Barnaby 
Bright  water-holes.  Don  Timeteo  was  one  mad  old 
man.  Young  Tim  and  the  bunch  was  just  bringin' 
their  sheep  down  from  the  mountains.  They  had 
sharpened  up  all  their  old  rifles  and  was  fixin'  to  run 
them  sheep  in  the  country  between  Barnaby  Bright 
and  the  new  Morgan  well — breathin'  fire  and  slaugh- 
ter. Nobody  would  listen  to  a  word  of  reason.  So  I 
went  on  down  to  the  Morgans. 

"Well,  sir,  as  I  got  off  my  horse,  them  cussed  fools 
piled  onto  me,  and  took  my  gun,  led  me  up  to  the 
house  and  kept  me  under  herd.  Wouldn  't  let  me  say 
a  word.  They  was  sure  fixin'  for  war.  Fuentes 
would  sheep  them  out,  hey?  They'd  show  Fuentes  a 
thing !  Zip !  Zowie !  They  had  sent  back  to  Mock- 
ingbird for  Tank  Lane  and  the  two  oldest  Morgan 
boys  and  Bat  Wilson;  they  was  waitin'  for  them  to 
come.  Me,  Spike  Gibson,  they  was  going  to  tie  up 


376  WEST  IS  WEST 

hand  and  foot  before  they  started. — And  here  comes 
Mister  Crooknose,  slouchin'  along  down  the  trail, 
with  one  leg  curled  round  the  horn  of  the  saddle. 

''Well,  sir,  half  a  dozen  guns  threw  down  on  him 
at  j;he  gate.  He  stuck  up  his  hands,  and  they  brought 
him  in. ' ' 

"  'Now,  what's  the  excite?'  he  says,  pleasant,  as 
they  hustled  him  to  a  chair.  'I  come  down  to  give 
you  a  friendly  tip.  Don't  seem  like  you  appreciate 
it.  I  can  show  you  how  to  keep  the  sheep  back  with- 
out any  trouble.' 

"Old  Steelfoot  is  a  nice  old  man  and  he  has  a  pow- 
erful gift  of  statement.  It  took  him  all  of  ten  min- 
utes to  explain  how  he  proposed  to  move  the  sheep, 
and  what  he  thought  about  meddlesome  people.  I 
gathered  that  he  maybe  meant  some  of  that  for  me. 
He's  mighty  interestin'  talker.  Jim  Webb  makes  a 
few  remarks,  but  he  wasn't  in  it  with  the  old  man. 

"Crooknose,  he  listened,  polite  and  proper;  but 
after  awhile  he  held  up  his  hand.  'Here,  I  want  to 
say  some  talk,'  he  says.  'Somebody  stake  me  to  a 
smoke.'  So  Webb  handed  him  over  the  makin's.  'I 
have  a  proposition  to  make  that  you'll  fall  right  in 
with,  it's  that  reasonable,'  says  Crooknose,  as  he 
finished  curlin'  a  cig.  He  patted  his  vest  pockets, 
brisk.  'Now,  where  did  I  put  that?'  he  says.  'Oh, 
yes!'  He  stuck  the  cigarette  in  mouth;  he  took  off' 
his  hat,  easy  and  careless,  reached  into  it,  and  stuck 
a  little  derring  up  against  Steelfoot 's  ear.  'Here 
it  is ! '  says  he. 

* '  Nobody  moved.  He  slipped  Steelfoot 's  gun  from 
.the  holster  and  trained  it  on  Webb.  'That  will  do 
nicely,'  says  he,  getting  Webb's  gun  and  tucking  the 


THE  ARBITRATOR  377 

derringer  away.  'I  observe  with  pleasure  that  you 
are  all  gentlemen  of  intelligence.  I  am  not  given  to 
levity,  and  I  am  in  too  deep  to  draw  back.  We  will 
now  ride  up  to  Fuentes  and  negotiate  a  treaty.  Mr. 
Gibson,  you  may  come  along  as  witness.' 

"Old  Steelfoot  found  his  voice.  'Hold  on,  here!' 
he  says.  'You've  got  me  and  Jim.  No  dispute  about 
that.  Anybody  with  nerve  to  hold  me  up  in  a  room- 
ful of  Morgans  will  go  through  with  the  play.  So 
if  you  have  any  treaty  to  spring  on  us  that  is  even 
halfway  fair,  we'll  agree.  But  you'll  never  take  me 
to  Fuentes  as  a  prisoner.  I'll  die  in  my  tracks  first. 
That  part  is  settled.  If  you've  got  a  white  man's 
proposition,  trot  it  out.' 

"  'Make  this  your  home  ranch  and  the  north  limit 
of  your  range,'  says  the  peacemaker.  'Bun  a  drift 
fence  from  Red  Mesa  out  to  the  low  country,  twenty 
miles  or  so.  The  Fuentes  people  will  build  half. 
Then  you  can  run  your  saddle  horses  north  of  the 
drift  fence,  where  the  grass  is  best,  letting  'em  water 
here  or  at  Barnaby  Bright.  But  keep  your  cattle 
south. ' 

"  'We'll  do  that,'  said  Steelfoot. 

"  'All  right,  then — here's  your  guns,'  says  Crook- 
nose — and  damn  my  eyes  if  he  didn  't  hand  them  guns 
over.  He  sat  himself  down  as  cool  as  Cuffy,  and  lit 
that  cigarette.  The  Morgans  are  all  right.  They're 
square.  They  never  thought  of  playing  crooked  on 
him. 

"  'Will  old  Timeteo  agree  to  this?'  says  Webb. 
'Did  he  send  you  to  make  that  proposition?' — Crook- 
nose  puffs  a  little  before  he  answers.  'Why,  no,'  he 
says.  'He  didn't.  I  studied  that  up  myself.  But  I 


378  WEST  IS  WEST 

think  he'll  agree  all  right.' 

"  'Well,  you  hike  along  to  Fuentes  and  put  it  up 
to  him,'  said  Steelfoot.  'We'll  agree  to  them  terms 
if  he  will.  And  we'll  not  bother  the  sheep  till  you 
get  back/ 

"  'You'd  better  send  Gibson,  I  reckon,'  says  the 
peace-maker.  'The  old  Don  don't  like  me  much.  He 
bawled  me  out  this  A.  M.  because  I  wouldn't  go  along 
with  his  fighting  men — fairly  showed  me  the  door. 
That  reminds  me.  They  had  as  nice  a  little  ambus- 
cade laid  as  ever  you  saw.  If  you  had  gone  out  after* 
the  sheep,  they'd  have  wiped  you  out  to  the  last  man. 
But  old  Don  Timeteo  will  agree  to  these  terms,  I 
think;  especially  as  they  didn't  come  from  you  on 
the  one  hand,  and  also  because  he  didn't  have  to 
make  the  first  advances,  either.  They're  my  terms, 
and  I  think  the  old  gentleman  will  fall  in  with  'em. — 
You  see,  I've  got  young  Tim  staked  and  hog-tied,  out 
in  the  brush.  I  must  go  see  to  him,  too.  I  want  some 
grub  and  water  for  him.  The  old  man  sets  a  heap 
of  store  by  young  Tim ;  he  '11  sign  your  treaty.  After- 
wards, I'd  like  to  stick  around  with  you  boys  awhile, 
if  you  don't  mind;  I  don't  think  they  want  me  at 
Fuentes  now.  And  I'm  just  getting  over  being  shot 
up  a  lot,  so  I'm  not  strong  enough  to  work  yet.  But 
I  might  come  in  handy  as  an  arbitrator,  or  some- 
thing. ' 

"Well,  sir — it  worked!  They're  building  the  fence 
now.  Crooknose  is  staying  with  the  Morgans,  riding 
around  and  getting  strong.  Old  Morgan  likes  him. 
So  does  Bennie.  He  stands  ace-high  with  her,  'cause 
Bennie  is  strong  for  no  more  war.  They  ride  to- 
gether a  heap.  Can't  say  that  Webb  likes  him;  I 


THE  ARBITRATOR  379 

think  maybe  he's  settin'  the  pace  for  Webb.    Blessed 
are  the  pacemakers." 

"Then  you  think  you'll  not  be  in  town  by  Satur- 
day, Mr.  James?"  asked  John  Sayles. 

' '  Nope.  Going  to  hurl  up  a  shack  on  my  little  old 
homestead,  now.  I'll  get  me  a  man  and  a  team  from 
Fuentes  to  help  me,  and  the  rest  of  the  outfit,  grub 
and  stuff.  I  won 't  be  in  for  maybe  two  weeks. ' ' 

' '  "Well,  good  luck,  then ! ' '  said  John  Sayles.  ' '  By 
the  time  you  get  in  I'll  have  a  letter  there  waiting 
for  you,  from  Baltimore." 

"Here— hold  on!"  said  Emil.  "You've  not  left 
this  country  yet.  You're  going  too  fast.  That  is  the 
lesson  for  next  July." 

John  Sayles  stared  at  him.  "How  did  you  ever 
happen  to  pick  that  up  ? "  he  demanded,  curiously. 

"Eh?  Pick  what  up?  Oh,  I  see!  Why,  that's 
from  an  old  song : 

'Where  has  he  got  to?    Tell  him  not  to'! 

All  of  the  scholars  who  hear  him,  cry. 
'That's  the  lesson  for,  lesson  for,  lesson  for, 

That  is  the  lesson  for  next  July!' 

' ( Nothing.  Only  it  is  what  they  sing  in  one  of  the 
old  English  schools — Harrow  or  Eton,  I've  forgotten 
which.  It  seemed  so  devilish  queer  to  hear  it,  out 
here." 

"Oh,  like  that?  Well,  it's  this  way:  I  was  not  al- 
ways thus,  the  savage  chief  of  yet  more  savage  men. 
My  grandsire  came  from  Wilmington,  North  Caro- 
lina, where  the  family  was  then  considered  some 


380  WEST  IS  WEST 

pumpkins.  So  Grandad  went  to  school  in  England. 
That's  how  it  happens  that  I  can  tell  you  what  school 
sings  that  little  old  song :  Harrow. ' ' 

Mrs.  Logan  came  to  the  door,  with  Kinks  clinging 
to  her  skirt.  "But  Mr.  James,"  she  said,  "Nate 
wrote  that  he  would  surely  start  east  next  Saturday, 
and  John  goes  with  us. 

* '  You  see,  ma  'am,  it 's  like  this, ' '  said  Emil.  ' '  Nate 
thinks  he's  going.  But  San  Clemente  thinks  right 
well  of  Nate,  him  bein'  a  boy  here  and  all  —  and 
they're  fixin'  up  a  surprise  for  him — slight  token  of 
esteem  and  respect — that  line  of  bunk.  So  I  judge 
maybe  he'll  stay  a  while  longer.  I  won't  spoil  it  by 
telling.  But,  if  I  was  you,  ma'am,  I'd  wait  out  here 
and  go  in  with  Nate,  so  you'll  be  surprised  along  with 
him.  The  boys  will  show  you  a  good  time  while 
you're  waiting— won 't  you  boys?" 

"Sure,"  said  Tom-Dick-Bob;  and  exchanged  a 
guilty  glance  with  John  Sayles. 

"I'll  stay,  then,  since  you  advise  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Logan.  "Kinks  was  rebellious  at  the  idea  of  going, 
anyway.  She  wants  to  see  her  papa." 

"I  made  a  swing  for  Kinks  just  now,  under  the 
trees,"  said  Emil.  "And  that  reminds  me  —  those 
trees  are  sure  mighty  pretty,  but  the  heat  isn't 
agreein'  with  'em.  They  look  droopy.  They  need  a 
big  rain.  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me  for  offerin'  ad- 
vice, Mrs.  Logan — but  if  I  was  you,  I  'd  have  the  boys 
tote  up  some  water  for  them  trees,  every  day.  They 
won't  mind.  Well,  goodby  all — I  got  to  be  movin'." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE    WITCH     TTTT.T.S 

EMU,  JAMES  was  building  a  house  on  his  claim  by 
Barnaby  Bright,  to  comply  with  the  very  moderate 
requirements  of  the  homestead  law.  It  was  to  be  a 
moderate  house,  therefore,  and  Emil  worked  mod- 
erately. He  was  no  woodsman;  nor  was  Charlie 
Stewart,  who  was  helping  him.  Their  hands  were 
little  trained  to  other  tools  than  rope  or  rifle,  but 
they  went  at  their  unaccustomed  toil  in  holiday 
spirit;  if  they  did  not  work  very  hard  at  it,  they  at 
least  worked  joyfully. 

The  task  had  the  spice  of  novelty  about  it.  When 
they  had  painfully  hacked  down  a  cedar,  they  felt  the 
same  flush  and  pride  of  accomplishment  that  a  lum- 
berman might  achieve  in  tying  down  his  first  steer. 

The  best  and  straightest  trees  were  in  the  half- 
mile  of  rough  little  hills  directly  under  the  cliff,  be- 
tween the  new  home-site  and  the  old  church  of  Barn- 
aby Bright.  In  resting  spells,  the  two  men  looked 
down  at  the  low  slopes  and  ridges  beneath  them  to 
see  how  the  railroad  should  best  curve  and  clamber 
to  reach  the  spot,  close  beside  the  new  house,  where 
it  should  pierce  the  cliff  behind,  the  last  barrier  on 
the  long  road  to  the  western  sea.  Once  beyond  Red 
Mesa,  it  was  down  hill  all  the  way  to  Yuma — six  hun- 
dred miles.  This  was  the  backbone  of  the  continent, 

381 


382  WEST  IS  WEST 

the  true  dividing  place,  the  parting  of  the  waters; 
the  rain  that  fell  on  Red  Mesa  found  its  way  to  two 
oceans. 

Fuentes  had  been  told  gently  of  the  new  railroad ; 
Fuentes  had  girded  up  its  loins,  rejoicing;  had 
planned  great  crops  for  the  great  market  that  was  to 
come  to  its  door.  Fuentes,  at  Emil's  pointing  out, 
was  to  try  for  artesian  water ;  if  found,  was  to  reap 
the  benefit,  picking  the  best  lands.  Land  is  oppor- 
tunity. It  needed  no  textbook  to  teach  Fuentes  that. 

Charlie  Stewart  drove  the  team.  Emil,  with  the 
Pussy-foot  horse,  a  rope  to  the  saddlehorn,  and  a 
stay-chain  to  pass  around  the  cedar  posts — where  a 
rope  would  fray  out  on  the  sharp  rocks — snaked  the 
posts  from  steeps  and  hollows  to  where  Charlie  could 
reach  them  with  his  wagon. 

It  \v:  pleasant  work.  The  smell  of  new-cut  cedar, 
together  with  spicy  tang  of  bruised  herbs,  made  a 
thing  to  be  remembered,  a  thing  which  stimulated 
the  imagination.  Emil  saw  the  far  trains  come  and 
go,  saw  the  road  curve  and  cling  on  the  ridges  below 
him,  saw  it  make  a  straight  and  shining  line  across 
the  desert. 

He  looked  around  at  the  little  cedared  hills  against 
the  cliff,  and  saw  there  a  busy  gateway  town.  It  was 
a  cheerful  thought ;  Emil  sang  as  he  rode  back : 

"When  time  was  young  and  the  school  was  new, 
(King  James  had  painted  it  bright  and  blue), 
In  sport  or  study,  in  grief  or  joy, 
St.  Joles  was  the  friend  of  the  lazy  boy. 
He  helped  when  the  lesson  at  noon  ivas  saidf 
He  helped  when  the  Bishop  was  fast  in  bed; 


THE  WITCH  HILL  383 

For  the  Bishop  of  course  ivas  master  then, 
And  Bishops  get  up  at  the  stroke  of  ten." 

He  dragged  another  load  of  posts  to  the  pile ;  he 
looked  again  at  that  brave  town  of  pleasant  homes, 
where  the  shadows  of  afternoon  fell  fresh  and  cool 
from  the  great  cliff ;  looked  closer,  and  saw  there  no 
home-fire  of  his  own.  Yet  it  was  his  own  homestead ; 
this  was  clearly  unjust.  He  lifted  up  his  eyes  and 
looked  out  across  the  desert  to  the  Witch  Hills. 

The  Witch  Hills  shimmered  and  shook  back  the 
sun;  they  rose  and  sank  and  wavered,  they  scattered, 
they  huddled  and  rushed  together,  they  swirled  high 
to  heaven,  a  portent ;  they  turned  themselves  to  Emil 
then  and  reached  out,  and  danced  and  beckoned  and 
promised.  Emil  rode  back. 

"And  if  ever  a  lesson  provoked  a  doubt 
St.  Joles  his  Lexicon  helped  it  out; 
Perhaps  it  wasn't  in  page  or  print, 
But  it  hinted  a  probable  friendly  hint; 
And  often,  indeed,  if  I  must  confess, 
It  was  like  to  a  sort  of  a  kind  of  guess." 

" There,  old  Pussyfoot!"  said  Emil.      "This  is 
your  last  load. — Let's  go !" 
He  took  off  the  chain,  he  began  coiling  up  his  rope. 

tlO  then  King  James,  in  his  wrath  and  ire, 
Degraded  Saint  Joles  to  Joles  Esquire;"—. 

The  song  broke  short :  Emil  stood  motionless,  the 
rope  half-coiled.  Below  him,  on  the  old  road  which 


384  WEST  IS  WEST 

led  in  through  the  doors  of  Saint  Barnaby  church, 
two  rode  swiftly;  Bennie  May  Morgan  and  Crook- 
nose  Evans. 

They  were  so  close  to  Emil  that  they  might  have 
heard  him.  They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  Once 
indeed,  they  looked  aside,  up  the  old  wagon-road  to 
Fuentes.  They  did  not  see  Emil,  in  plain  view  on  the 
hill  above  them ;  they  did  not  see  the  swift  dust-cloud 
that  followed  behind,  on  the  new  trail  from  the  new 
Morgan  well ;  that  gained  on  them ;  a  dust-cloud  that 
turned  up  the  pebbly  slope,  and  thinned  there,  with 
black  specks  shaping  through — ten  of  them,  twenty — - 
furious  horsemen,  charging  fiercely  up  the  steeps  to 
the  pass;  the  wild  Morgans,  scarcely  two  miles  be- 
hind.— Unseeing,  unhearing,  the  two  fugitives  rode 
on ;  their  horse-hoofs  clattered  in  the  creek-bed ;  they 
spurred  through  the  gateway  under  the  church  of 
Barnaby  Bright. 

Emil  was  stone  on  the  hillside. — Boy  and  man,  his 
eyes  had  ever  sought  the  far  horizons,  wondering 
what  lay  beyond.  This  it  was  which  lay  beyond ;  to 
which  all  paths  had  turned  since  the  first  toddling 
of  his  baby  feet  in  the  dim  old  gardens  of  San  An- 
tonio. The  long- stretching  perspective  of  coming 
years,  dream-haunted,  misty,  enchanted,  all  faded 
now  and  blurred — then  cleared  away  and  left  him 
face  to  face  with  the  appointed  hour.  In  the  mid- 
dance  of  pulsing  life  it  struck,  that  waiting  hour; 
clear  and  high,  above  the  turmoil  of  leaping  blood, 
he  heard  the  call,  and  answered,  nothing  doubting. 

His  gun  was  in  camp.  He  took  up  his  axe  and 
plunged  down  a  steep  foot-path  under  the  cliff, 
through  trees  and  brush.  He  came  to  the  pass;  in 


THE  WITCH  HILL  385 

the  deep,  dark  shadows,  he  looked  up  at  the  church 
of  Barnaby  Bright,  the  ancient  roof  and  the  timeless 
walls.  He  closed  the  gate  under  the  church ;  he  stood 
with  a  foot  on  the  lowest  stair  of  the  church  steps 
and  leaned  on  his  axe,  waiting. 

A  thunder  of  hoofs  beat  on  his  ears;  shod  feet 
striking  fire  from  stones,  the  Morgans  whirled  into 
the  narrow  strait.  "Webb  was  first ;  Emil  swung  his 
axe  and  shouted.  The  frightened  horse  slid,  swerved 
and  turned  back,  plunging.  A  shot  went  wild  in  that 
whirling  plunge,  an  axe  gleamed  up ;  part  of  Webb 's 
hat  fluttered  to  the  ground.  Steelf  oot  Morgan  reined 
aside,  throwing  his  horse  back  to  his  haunches. 

"I  have  no  gun,"  said  Emil  mildly.  "Jim,  yon 
couldn't  see  that — it's  pretty  dark  here  till  you  get 
used  to  it.  So  I'll  excuse  you  this  time." 

"What  in  the  name  of  God !"  roared  Steel- 
foot,  but  checked  at  Emil's  lifted  hand. 

"This  road  is  closed  for  the  day,"  said  Emil. 
"Orders.  Mine.  Unless  you  want  to  shoot  an  un- 
armed man.  If  you  do — shoot  and  be  damned ! ' ' 

Fierce  faces  gleamed  in  that  dusky  place,  there 
was  a  clamor  and  crash  of  wild  voices,  they  pressed 
forward,  the  Morgans  and  their  men;  a  phantasma- 
goria of  sound  and  motion,  quivering,  threatening  to 
plunge  and  over-ride,  together  and  headlong.  Emil 
stood  waiting,  axe  balanced.  Three  late-comers  rode 
into  the  canon  and  swelled  the  uproar :  one  evil  face 
that  Emil  knew — Travesy;  two  faces  he  did  not 
know. 

Then,  swift  as  a  dream,  the  babel  ceased ;  that  wild 
crew  fell  silent,  drew  back,  turned  their  horses' 
heads ;  they  drove  the  late-comers  before  them,  they 


386  WEST  IS  WEST 

rode  back  down  the  canon,  passed  the  bend,  van- 
ished ! — What  Emil  did  not  know  was  that  the  church 
door  had  opened  softly  behind  him ;  that  Bennie  May 
stood  there,  and  looked  down  on  him. — The  dullest 
Morgan  could  not  mistake  what  her  eyes  said  as  she 
looked  down  on  this  man  who  held  the  gate  for  her. 
They  stayed  for  no  questioning.  "Webb  rode  last, 
slowly;  his  great  black  head  drooped  as  he  rode. 
Emil  stood  amazed.  The  echoes  died  away. 

"It  was  Helen  Fuentes,"  said  Bennie  May,  clearly. 

The  axe  dropped  with  a  clatter ;  Emil  turned  and 
saw  her. 

'  *  The  El  Paso  people  were  after  Mr.  Evans, ' '  said 
Bennie  May,  at  the  top  step.  "Billy  Murray  sent 
warning ;  he  brought  Helen  here  to  meet  us.  I  came 
with  Mr.  Evans  to  represent  womankind,  and  to  wish 
her  good  luck." 

Emil  looked  up  at  her  dumbly.  She  came  down  to 
the  next  step. 

"Not  as  bridesmaid  exactly — but  that  was  the  gen- 
eral effect.  There's  no  priest  nearer  than  Luna. 
They've  gone  on  to  be  married  there.  Billy  went  with 
them."  She  came  down  slowly;  one  step  nearer  to 
him.  "Helen  wented  a  last  prayer  here,  in  the 
church  of  her  fathers. ' ' 

She  floated  nearer,  nearer;  she  was  on  the  last 
step.  "Did  you  see  the  Witch  Hills  to-day,  Emil? 
They  were  never  so  lovely. ' ' 

"Bennie!"  said  Emil  hoarsely.  He  held  put  his 
quivering  hands. 

"Let's  go!"  said  Bennie. 

(THE  END) 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

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THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

A  New  York  society  girl  buys  a  ranch  which  becomes  the  center  of  frontier  war- 
fare. Her  loyal  superintendent  rescues  her  when  she  is  captured  by  bandits.  A 
surprising-  climax  brings  the  story  to  a  delightful  close. 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

The  story  of  a  young:  clergyman  who  becomes  a  wanderer  in  the  great  westeoi 
uplands— until  at  last  love  and  faith  awake. 

DESERT  GOLD 

The  story  describes  the  recent  uprising:  alone:  the  border,  and  ends  with  the  finding! 
of  the  gold  which  two  prospectors  haa  willed  to  the  girl  who  is  the  story's  heroine. 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

A  picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago  when  Mormon  authority 
ruled.  The  prosecution  of  Jane  Withe/ steen  is  the  theme  of  the  »tory. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

This  is  the  record  of  a  trip  which  the  author  took  with  Buffalo  Jones,  known  as  th« 
preserver  of  the  American  bison,  across  the  Arizona  desert  and  of  a  hunt  in  "thai 
wonderful  country  of  deep  canons  and  giant  pines." 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 


THE  SHORT  STOP 

The  young  hero,  tiring  of  his  factory  grind,  starts  out  to  win  fame  and  fortune  M 
a  professional  ball  player.  His  hard  knocks  at  the  start  are  followed  by  such  success 
as  clean  sportsmanship,  courage  and  honesty  ought  to  win. 

BETTY  ZANE 

This  story  tells  of  the  bravery  and  heroism  of  Betty,  the  beautiful  young  sister  of 
old  Colonel  Zane,  one  of  the  bravest  pioneers. 

THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


captors'and  henceforth'  is  minted  on  one  side  by  honest  men,  on  the  other  by  outlaws. 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

Joan  Handle,  in  a  spirit  of  anger,  sent  Jim  Cleve  out  to  a  lawless  Western  minlnr 
camp,  to  prove  his  mettle.  Then  realizing  that  she  loved  him—  she  followed  him  out. 
On  her  way,  she  is  captured  by  a  bandit  band,  and  trouble  begins  when  she  shoots 
Kells,  the  leader—  and  nurses  him  to  health  again.  Here  enters  another  romance-- 
when Joan,  disguised  as  an  outlaw,  observes  Jim,  in  the  throes  of  dissipation.  A  gold 
strike,  a  thrilling  robbery—  gambling  and  gun  play  carry  you  along  breathlessly. 

THE   LAST  OF  THE~GREAT  SCOUTS, 
By  Helen  Cody  Wetmore  and  Zane  Grey 

The  life  story  of  Colonel  William  F.  Cody,  "  Buffalo  Bill,"  as  told  by  his  sister  and 
ane  Grey.    It  begins  with  his  boyhood  in  Iowa  and  his  first  encounter  with  an  In- 


ane    rey.          egns  w 
dian.    We  see  "Bill"  as  a  pony  express  rider,  then   near  Fort  Sumter  as  Chief  01 


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JAMES   OLIVER  CURWOOD'S 

_  STORIES    OF    ADVENTURE  _ 

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KAZAN 

The  tale  of  a  "quarter-strain  wolf  and  three-quarters  husky" 
torn  between  the  call  of  the  human  and  his  wild  mate. 

BAREE.  SON  OF  KAZAN 

The  story  of  the  son  of  the  blind  Grey  Wolf  and  the  gallant 
part  he  played  in  the  lives  of  a  man  and  a  woman. 

THE  COURAGE  OF  CAPTAIN  PLUM 

The  story  of  the  King  of  Beaver  Island,  a  Mormon  colony, 
and  his  battle  with  Captain  Plum. 
THE  DANGER  TRAIL 

A  tale  of  snow,  of  love,  of  Indian  vengeance,  and  a  mystery 
of  the  North. 

THE  HUNTED  WOMAN 

A  tale  of  the  "end  of  the  line,"  and  of  a  great  fight  in  the 
"valley  of  gold"  for  a  woman. 
THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  Fort  o'  God,  where  the  wild  flavor  of  the  wilder- 
ness is  blended  with  the  courtly  atmosphere  of  France. 
THE  GRIZZLY  KING 

The  story  of  Thor,  the  big  grizzly  who  lived  in  a  valley  where 
man  had  never  come.  J 

ISOBEL 

A  love  story  of  the  Far  North. 
THE  WOLF  HUNTERS 

A  thrilling  tale  of  adventure  in  the  Canadian  wilderness. 
THE  GOLD  HUNTERS 

The  story  of  adventure  in  the  Hudson  Bay  wilds. 
THE  COURAGE  OF  MARGE  O'DOONE 

Filled  with  exciting  incidents  in  the  land  of  strong  men  and 
women. 

BACK  TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 

A  thrilling  story  of  the  Far  North.     The  great  Photoplay  was 
from  this  book. 


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"STORM  COUNTRY"  BOOKS  BY 

GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

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JUDY  OF  ROGUES'  HARBOR 

Judy's  untutored  ideas  of  God,  her  love  of  wild  things, 
her  faith  in  life  are  quite  as  inspiring  as  those  of  Tess. 
Her  faith  and  sincerity  catch  at  your  heart  strings.  This 
book  has  all  of  the  mystery  and  tense  action  of  the  other 
Storm  Country  books. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

It  was  as  Tess,  beautiful,  wild,  impetuous,  that  Mary 
Pickford  made  her  reputation  as  a  motion  picture  actress. 
How  love  acts  upon  a  temperament  such  as  hers — a  tem- 
perament that  makes  a  woman  an  angel  or  an  outcast,  ac- 
cording to  the  character  of  the  man  she  loves — is  the 
theme  of  the  story. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

The  sequel  to  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country,"  with  the 
same  wild  background,  with  its  half-gypsy  life  of  the  squat- 
ters— tempestuous,  passionate,  brooding.  Tess  learns  the 
"  secret "  of  her  birth  and  finds  happiness  and  love  through 
her  boundless  faith  in  life. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MISSING 

A  haunting  story  with  its  scene  laid  near  the  country 
familiar  to  readers  of  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country." 

'ROSE  o*  PARADISE 

"  Jinny  "  Singleton,  wild,  lovely,  lonely,  but  with  a  pas- 
sionate yearning  for  music,  grows  up  in  the  house  of  Lafe 
Grandoken,  a  crippled  cobbler  of  the  Storm  Country.  Her 
romance  is  full  of  power  and  glory  and  tenderness. 

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THE  NOVELS  OF 
GRACE    LIVINGSTON    HILL     LUTZ 

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THE  BEST  MAN 

Through  a  strange  series  of  adventures  a  young  man  finds 
himself  propelled  up  the  aisle'  of  a  church  and  married  to  a 
strange  girl. 

A  VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  , 

On  her  way  West  the  heroine  steps  off  by  mistake  at  a  lonely 
watertank  into  a  maze  of  thrilling  events. 

THE  ENCHANTED  BARN 

Every  member  of  the  family  will  enjoy  this  spirited  chronicle 
of  a  young  girl's  resourcefulness  and  pluck,  and  the  secret  of 
the  "enchanted"  barn. 

THE  WITNESS 

The  fascinating  story  of  the  enormous  change  an  incident 
wrought  in  a  man's  Hie. 

MARCIA  SCHUYLER 

A  picture  of  ideal  girlhood  set  in  the  time  of  full  skirts  and 
poke  bonnets. 

LO.  MICHAEL  1 

A  story  of  unfailing  appeal  to  all  who  love  and  understand  boys. 
THE  MAN  OF  THE  DESERT 

An  intensely  moving  love  story  of  a  man  of  the  desert  and  a 
girl  of  the  East  pictured  against  the  background  of  the  Far  West 

PHOEBE  DEANE 

A  tense  and  charming  love  story,  told  with  a  grace  and  a  fer- 
vor with  which  only  Mrs.  Lutx  could  tell  it 

DAWN  OF  THE  MORNING 

A  romance  of  the  last  century  with  all  of  its  old-fashioned 
charm.  A  companion  volume  to  "Marcia  Schuyler"  and 
"Phoebe  Deane." 

^ _^_ — — — ^— — — _— — — — — — ' 

Ask  for  Complete  free  list  of  G.    &  D.    Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


RALPH    CONNOR'S  STORIES 

OF   THE    NORTHWEST 

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THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

The  clean-hearted,  strong-limbed  man  of  the  West  leaves 
his  hills  and  forests  to  fight  the  battle  for  freedom  in  the 
old  world. 
BLACK  ROCK 

A  story  of  strong  men  in  the  mountains  of  the  West. 
THE  SKY  PILOT 

A  story  of  cowboy  life,  abounding  in  the  freshest  humor, 
the  truest  tenderness  and  the  finest  courage. 
THE  PROSPECTOR 

A  tale  of  the  foothills  and  of  the  man  who  came  to  them 
to  lend  a  hand  to  the  lonely  men  and  women  who  needed  a 
protector. 
THE  MAN  FROM  GLENGARRY 

This  narrative  brings  us  into  contact  with  elemental  and 
volcanic  human  nature  and  with  a  hero  whose  power  breathes 
from  every  word. 
GLENGARRY  SCHOOL  DAYS 

In  this  rough  country  of  Glengarry,  Ralph  Connor  has 
found  human  nature  in  the  rough. 
THE  DOCTOR 

The  story   of  a  "preacher-doctor"  whom  big  men  and 
reckless  men  loved  for  his  unselfish  life  among  them. 
THE  FOREIGNER 

A  tale  of  the  Saskatchewan  and  of  a  "  foreigner ",  who 
made  a  brave  and  winning  fight  for  manhood  and  love. 
CORPORAL  CAMERON 

This  splendid  type  of  the  upright,  out-of-door  man  about 
which  Ralph  Connor  builds  all  his  stories,  appears  again  in 
this  book. . __ 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,       *NEW  YORK 


NOVELS  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE  BY 

WILLIAM   MACLEOD   RAINE 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.        Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

MAVERICKS 

A  tale  of  the  western  frontier,  where  the  "  rustler  "  abounds.    One  of  the  sweetest 
love  stories  ever  told. 

A  TEXAS  RANGER 

How  a  member  of  the  border  police  saved  the  life  of  an  innocent  man,  followed  a 
fugitive  to  Wyoming,  and  then  passed  through  deadly  peril  to  ultimate  happiness. 

WYOMING 

In  this  vivid  story  the  author  brings  out  the  turbid  life  of  the  frontier  with  all  itj 
engaging  dash  and  vigor. 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA 

The  ecene  is  laid  in  the  mining-  centers  of  Montana,  where  politics  and  mining  in- 
dustries are  the  religion  of  the  country. 

BUCKY  O'CONNOR 

Every  chapter  teems  with  wholesome,  stirring  adventures,  replete  with  the  dashing 
spirit  of  the  border. 

CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT 

A  story  of  Arizona  ;  of  swift-riding  men  and  daring  outlaws ;  of  a  bitter  feud  be- 
tween cattle-men  and  sheep-herders. 

BRAND  BLOTTERS 

A  story  of  the  turbid  life  of  the  frontier  with  a  charming  love  interest  running 
through  its  page*. 

STEVE  YEAGER 

A  story  brimful  of  excitement,  with  enough  gun-play  and  adventure  to  suit  anyone. 
A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

A  Western  story  of  romance  and  adventure,  comprising  a  vivacious  and  stirring 
tale. 
THE  HIGHGRADER 

A  breezy,  pleasant  and  amusing  love  story  of  Western  mining  life. 
THE  PIRATE  OF  PANAMA 

A  tale  of  old-time  pirates  and  of  modern  love,  hate  and  adventure. 
THE  YUKON  TRAIL 

A  crisply  entertaining  love  story  in  the  land  where  might  makes  right. 
THE  VISION  SPLENDID 

In  which  two  cousins  are  contestants  for  the  same  prizes ;  political  honors  and  the 
hand  of  a  girl. 

THE   SHERIFF'S  SON 

The  hero  finally  conquers  both  himself  and  his  enemies  and  wins  the  love  of  a 
wonderful  girl. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,          PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


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